And in Other News
by Jeanie205
Summary: Bellamy Blake and Clarke Griffin have both been hired to work in the news department of the same Boston TV station. They don't like each other at first but then forge a strong friendship. But could it be more? To answer that question, they'll have to go on a personal and career journey that lasts more than six years. Bellarke modern AU. Bellamy POV.
1. Chapter 1

"So... doing anything special this weekend?"

Damn! What the hell was _wrong_ with him?

Bellamy had _promised_ himself he wouldn't ask Clarke that question. But then she'd smiled at him in the mirror as they sat for makeup and it had just... popped out.

She eyed him quizzically. "Why do you ask?"

He shrugged, scratching around to come up with a reasonable response.

"Just wondered if, uh, that new guy was going to be in town."

Clarke's brow wrinkled in confusion. "Cillian isn't exactly new, Bellamy. I've been seeing him for almost a year."

"That long?" he said lightly, trying desperately to sound surprised.

Like he hadn't known exactly how long they'd been dating. Or that learning about the new guy hadn't come as a _totally unexpected_ punch to the gut 10 months and 16 days earlier.

Like he hadn't been trying to figure out what the hell to do about it ever since.

Bellamy was saved from explaining himself when Echo suddenly stuck her head in the door.

"Bellamy, Clarke, five minutes," she said quickly before hurrying off.

Clarke's lips twisted in a wry smile.

"Doesn't she have both an assistant and an intern to run around with those kinds of reminders?"

Bellamy shrugged again, happy for the change of subject.

"Echo just likes to stay on top of things."

He would almost swear he heard Clarke mutter under her breath... _I'll just bet she does... _but then the warning lights flashed and soon they were hurrying along the corridor and onto the set.

As they took their customary seats, Bellamy couldn't stop himself from glancing over at Clarke, from giving her a smile. And he certainly couldn't stop the hot rush of feelings that coursed through him when her lips curved up softly and her eyes smiled back at him.

"Ten seconds, everyone," the director called from the booth and Bellamy forced himself to clear his mind of everything else and just focus on his job.

"And we are... on the air," he heard through his earpiece.

"Good evening, I'm Bellamy Blake..."

"... and I'm Clarke Griffin. Welcome to the WBOS evening news."

XXXXXXXXXX

Bellamy Blake had never been remotely interested in a career in television news. When he finished his Masters in Journalism, his greatest aspiration had been to one day join the hallowed ranks of "ink-stained wretches" who worked at one of the big-city dailies.

Minus the ink, of course.

But jobs were scarce, and he did like to eat on a regular basis, so when he was offered a part-time position as a staff reporter at the local Arkville TV station, he jumped at it. Naturally, since he was Bellamy, the part-time job still elicited 100% of his effort. So when a full-time spot became available a few months later, it was his for the taking.

Bellamy told himself that the big-city paper could wait, that for now he was happy to be able to start paying off his student loans. But the truth was that he'd found himself energized by the fast-paced atmosphere of television news. And that he had a totally unexpected talent for it.

He'd always been able to find the story, get great copy, and write it up incisively. But he knew instinctively that _telling_ the story was important, too, and was excited to realize he could deliver the goods.

He never froze or fumbled or fidgeted. And his voice was naturally modulated to a pitch that viewers found soothing.

In short, he was a natural.

What happened next was serendipitous. Four years later, his local station was bought out by one of those multi-media conglomerates, and they were searching for new talent to fill in spots at one of their other stations.

In Boston.

There were certainly larger cities, more populous markets, but everyone knew that working the local news in Boston was a prestige assignment. So Bellamy could hardly believe it when he was offered a job.

In the back of his mind there might have been the lingering suspicion that perhaps he'd been chosen for his looks rather than his talent. Television was, after all, a visual medium, even in the news departments. And it wasn't like Bellamy was unaware that he was more attractive than average, and hadn't long ago promised himself that he'd never try to skate by on his good looks.

But he finally shrugged off his self-doubts and packed his bags. He'd worked hard at both his degree and his job, and he knew he was more than qualified. If his face gave him an edge, why the hell shouldn't he take advantage of that? Especially when he knew working in a market like Boston would do wonders for his résumé.

It was a week after he began his new job as the lowest of general assignment reporters that Bellamy learned he wasn't the only new face at WBOS. The other addition was female, blonde, and pretty in a princess-y sort of way, and as soon as he saw her Bellamy knew damn well her looks had definitely gotten _her_ the job.

The news director, Marcus Kane, introduced them.

"Bellamy, meet our latest addition, Clarke Griffin. She's actually from out your way."

"Oh, yeah?" he said, surprised, holding out his hand politely to give hers a brief shake. "You're from Arkville?"

Clarke shook her head. "Polis," she said, the throaty timbre of her voice surprising him.

Polis! It was a suburb of Arkville, but it might as well have been on another planet.

"Oh, yeah? Don't think I was ever allowed to set foot in Polis. It's a little... out of my league," he said pointedly. He knew the barb had hit home when her back stiffened and her blue eyes turned glacial.

"Everyone has to be from somewhere," she said frostily. "I'd like to think I'm more than where I was born."

Kane looked a little bewildered, as though not quite sure why his two newest staff members seemed to already be at each others' throats.

"Uh, Clarke just graduated from the Columbia School of Journalism," he said quickly, "She comes highly recommended."

Bellamy smiled, nodding, even though he didn't feel the least bit friendly. "I'm sure she must have great connections since she has no actual experience."

If possible, the atmosphere became even frostier, and Bellamy supposed that was mostly his fault. But, fuck! Why the hell should he care? He'd had to work for years in his podunk TV station before being picked up by Boston, while the princess here just waltzed in right out of grad school!

Clarke's lips firmed into a thin angry line.

"I interned at WNYC for six months..."

"I'm sure you did," he interrupted before she could finish. "I'll bet you make a mean cup of coffee. So, hey! Good luck, Clarke."

Clarke began to sputter, but Bellamy had already turned away.

"Oh, and I take mine black with two sugars," he threw over his shoulder with an insouciant wink. "Just in case."

XXXXXXXXXX

Bellamy might have thought he could avoid his fellow newbie, but it was not to be. As the most junior of the news staff, they were both assigned to the black hole of weekend news, where there were few viewers and their more senior colleagues had the days off. Not that Bellamy cared because he had little to do on the weekends anyway.

Or on the weekdays, for that matter.

He spent most of his time off familiarizing himself with both the city and its suburbs, as well as learning the sometimes mystifying pronunciations of the names of the surrounding communities.

(Why, he'd wondered more than once, should Quincy be pronounced like it was spelled with a "z" instead of a "c"? Did that mean he'd been mispronouncing the name of the sixth president all these years? Yes, he learned from the native Bostonians at the station. Indeed he had.)

Despite their similar work schedule, he still didn't see much of Clarke Griffin because they spent most of their time out getting the story... whatever it was. They'd each been allotted a desk in the large open news office, of course, but they never seemed to be there at the same time. So he mostly saw her in passing, in the break room or the halls.

Although they'd both been kept busy, neither Bellamy nor Clarke had actually been let loose on anything close to hard news. After a few months, Clarke seemed to have found her niche in chatting up the bereaved families of the luckless victims of crimes or accidents. Bellamy would have been gleeful that she was continually stuck in such thankless assignments were it not for two things.

First, he'd grudgingly come to realize that she was surprisingly good at it.

Maybe it was her soft princess-y looks and her air of sincerity.

He knew it couldn't be _real_ empathy, of course, because what the hell would a pampered girl from Polis know about being one of the urban poor and then having something terrible happen that just made your fucking life ten times worse?

Still, she managed to get more out of them - a few words of sincere reaction - than almost anyone he'd ever seen.

As for his second reason, well that was easy His own evolving "niche" was So. Much. Worse.

Because somehow Bellamy Blake had become WBOS's go-to weather guy. Not predicting the weather, of course... just _experiencing_ it.

Who knew that a nice city like Boston had such screwy weather, anyway? Heat waves, floods, hurricanes, blizzards... and he was lucky enough to get to cover them all. It got so bad that eventually the first thing thing he checked out on a workday morning was the weather forecast. That way, if he was about to suffer heat stroke, or be blown over by gale-force winds, or slide around in a four-foot snow drift, at least he'd be prepared.

Clarke appeared to find this endlessly amusing. When January turned to February and Bellamy was preparing to spend his fourth Saturday in a row mired in drifts from yet _another_ snowstorm, she didn't bother hiding her smirk as she breezed by him in the corridor just as he was about to leave the building.

"Sure you put on enough layers there, Bellamy?" she inquired cheerfully. "I think there's a pair of snowshoes in the basement."

Bellamy glowered. She just couldn't help herself, could she?

"Hey, at least I'm not harassing people at the worst moment in their lives!" he tossed after her without thinking, barely able to move and pissed as hell about looking forward to another day of potential frostbite.

She pulled up short and wheeled around to face him.

"Those were my assignments, as you well know."

His anticipation of those biting winds, not to mention frozen fingers and toes, had him grinning nastily.

"Right. And could they possibly have given the job to anyone less suited for it?"

"What the hell does that mean?" she said, her voice tight, her face taut with anger.

"It means that some girl who grew up in one of the grand estates in Polis is never gonna understand what it's like to suffer a real tragedy. They should have you covering tea socials and... and debutante balls!"

Clarke turned white, and then her face suffused with anger, but Bellamy just felt glad! He had to go out into this fucking blizzard and she was just a pampered little...

"Well, at least I get to write about actual _people_! I don't have try to _make up_ news," and here Clarke's hands moved up into those obnoxious air quotes that Bellamy despised, "from a bunch of snowflakes! Do you go sledding in between those incisive broadcasts, Blake? Got your toboggan in the back of the van?"

"Yeah? You think this assignment is so much fun," he snarled, "why the hell don't you try doing it some time!"

"Well, I could!" she shot back immediately. "And I'd do a better job than you any day of the week!"

"Big words," he said, his lip curling in derision. "Easy to say when you know you'll never have to..."

"Give me that," she said suddenly, pulling the assignment sheet out of his hand to study it. "This doesn't look so hard. Tell your camera guy to wait until I get dressed."

Bellamy's jaw dropped. She didn't really intend to do this... did she?

"You can't go out in this weather, Clarke, you're not dressed for it," he said reasonably. "But maybe the next time..."

"Bullshit! How do you think I got here today? I wore boots and a heavy jacket. I'll let them know I'm taking your assignment. And you can make my phone calls to the relatives of those kids that got shot. There's a list on my desk."

Then she was off before he could say another word.

When Clarke reappeared a few minutes later in what looked to Bellamy like wholly inadequate clothing, he began to protest further, but she was having none of it.

"My snowflake story will be the best this station has ever heard," was her parting shot as she followed Nate Miller, the cameraman, out the door.

Bellamy looked down at his bulky gear and shrugged. _Might just as well take it off._

It was nearly two hours - and a half-dozen uncomfortable phone calls - later when Bellamy thought to check in on Clarke's weather story. Not that he _had_ to, of course. She'd wanted the assignment swap and apparently the producers had okayed it.

But still. He was curious.

"So how's Clarke Griffin making out with the snow reports," he inquired casually, sticking his head into the broadcast booth during a commercial break.

Jack Sinclair, the weekend news director, squinted up at him in confusion.

"Haven't you heard? The news van tipped over just before they got to Framingham. This must've been your lucky day..."

"What! Are they okay?" Bellamy was suddenly frantic with worry, not to mention sick with guilt. If she was hurt...

"Relax! They're good. Well, maybe a little cold. Murphy's going to take the other van to pick them up..."

But Bellamy was already out of the room, chasing down Murphy just as he was about to leave.

"Give me two minutes, I'm coming with you," he told him before making a mad dash for the closet where he'd stashed his gear.

"No reason for you to come, Bellamy," Murphy called after him, but all he got from Bellamy was a wave of the hand and a terse, "Wait for me!"

Five minutes later, they were out on the nearly-deserted streets, slowly making their way west. What was ordinarily a twenty minute drive took them nearly forty-five minutes in the thickly swirling snow, and Bellamy spent the entire time fretting.

"Why isn't she picking up?" he said, after the tenth unanswered call to Clarke's phone.

Murphy side-eyed him, his expression curious.

"Hey, I didn't know you and blondie were, uh,..."

Bellamy eyed him in surprise. "We're not! Truth is, we mostly can't stand each other. But I was supposed to be in that van, not her. I... goaded her into it."

Murphy nodded. "Okay, then. Guilt, not love."

Bellamy's eyes widened. _That'd be the day_.

They found the van teetering on a drift and blocking the street. The city employees who were dealing with it were a lot more interested in clearing the roadway for the plows than they were in a couple of shivering broadcasters.

Clarke was huddled near the side of the road with an old blanket thrown over her shoulders. Bellamy knew that blanket. He'd used it himself more than once for extra warmth and shelter, and he also knew it didn't provide much of either.

"Clarke," he shouted, his voice carrying on the wind over the noise of the storm and the plows and the tow truck.

She looked up, surprised.

"Bellamy! What are you..."

But he already had his down parka off and was wrapping her up in it. It swamped her small frame and the sleeves extended past her hands. Which was probably a good thing, since he couldn't see that she was wearing any gloves.

"Come on," he said, hurrying her towards the second van. "Murphy's got the heat on full blast and you'll be warm soon."

She stared up at him as though she could hardly believe he was being kind to her. Bellamy was surprised by how much it stung that Clarke Griffin didn't seem to think he had even a shred of common decency.

The return trip was quicker over newly-plowed roads, and the moment they arrived Clarke ran off to get out of her wet clothes. Aiming to improve her low opinion of him as a human, Bellamy had a cup of her favorite tea waiting for her when she emerged from the ladies room a few minutes later dressed in a pair of sweats.

She eyed the mug suspiciously before lifting it and taking a tentative sip

"Thanks, but you didn't have to do this," she protested. "I'm fine. Really."

But Bellamy knew that was bullshit because he could see she was still shivering.

He shrugged. "That should have been me out there waiting in the cold for rescue."

Clarke smiled ruefully, wrapping her hands around the warm mug. "Yeah, but at least you would have been properly dressed for it."

Bellamy was surprised by her honesty, and the guilt came rushing back.

"Clarke..." "Bellamy..."

They huffed a laugh at their synchronicity.

"You first," she said.

He sighed. "I'm sorry I goaded you into going out in this fucking storm. I'm just... glad you weren't really hurt."

Clarke shrugged. "It was my own stupid pride. And now they don't even have their snow story." Her lips twisted into a sudden smirk. "At least if you'd been out there in your toboggan pants..."

Bellamy grinned. "Hey, those pants have saved me from freezing my ass off more than once."

"I'll bet," she laughed.

"And about the story... I thought I saw Miller filming the overturned van when we got there. And I know Murphy shot some film of the van and the tow truck. Must have gotten at least some of the surrounding drifts..."

"Yeah, but what good is the footage all by itself? Without the commentary?"

Bellamy frowned, thinking furiously. "Well... you could always talk about what happened, I suppose," he said slowly as an idea began to percolate through his brain.

"What do you mean?" Clarke asked, brow wrinkling.

But what had started as a vague and fanciful idea had suddenly begun to gel inside his head.

"You and I are gonna make a featurette," he announced, feeling a rush of excitement.

"A _what_?"

"Let's round up that footage from Murphy and Miller," he said, grabbing at her hand to tug her along. "I'll explain on the way."

Clarke laughed, clearly infected by his enthusiasm. "Can I at least bring my tea?"

It took them nearly two hours of cutting, editing, splicing, and then shooting more footage of the two of them — Clarke in her sweats and Bellamy in his "toboggan pants." When they were done, he pronounced the result a masterpiece.

"I'm not so sure," she said, but her smile was bright. In fact, Bellamy didn't think he'd ever seen her smile as much as he had over the past couple of hours.

(And truthfully, those smiles had started to become just a trifle... unnerving.)

When it was done - polished to Bellamy's high standard of perfection - they brought it to Sinclair and asked to have it aired.

"Are you sure," he asked, laughing, after he'd finished viewing it.

Bellamy and Clarke shrugged. "Why not?" he said.

The piece aired just after the 6:30 commercial break, and at nearly five minutes, it was rather long for a single segment.

It opened with a ragged-looking Clarke in her sweats seated on the break-room sofa, holding a mic and telling the viewers, "Hi, I'm Clarke Griffin and you're probably wondering why I'm sitting here talking to you in these ratty old sweats instead of dressed in something a little more... professional. Well, let me tell you, I've had one heck of a day. It all began with a little debate with my colleague, Bellamy Blake."

At which point Bellamy lumbered into the scene in full snow suit, goggles, and the snowshoes they'd actually found in the basement. The piece went on to detail the whole sorry day: the collegial sniping, the assignment swap, the van turning over and Clarke freezing her patootie off in inappropriate clothing. (In fact, after some discussion, they'd actually used the word "patootie.")

Altogether, it was clever and amusing, and though it contained no actual information, it gave the viewers a real feel for the unexpectedness of events during a New England snowstorm.

Bellamy and Clarke watched it together in the booth, both grinning like idiots.

And that, as they say, was that.

Except... it wasn't. Emails, texts, and tweets started pouring in as soon as the segment ended, and on Monday - a day they normally didn't work - they were both called in to Marcus Kane's office.

"They want more," Kane wasted no time in telling them as soon as they came through the door.

Bellamy frowned and glanced down at Clarke, but she looked as bewildered as he felt.

"More of what?" he asked for them both.

"Management wants more collaborative pieces like the snow story. One a week, any topic you like, and since this'll be in addition to your regular weekend reporting there's a bump in salary. They want to air the pieces during the week, whenever there's a slow news day."

Kane grinned at them, no doubt expecting them to be pleased.

And Bellamy had to admit that he _was_ excited. More pieces meant more exposure and the raise meant he'd be that much closer to buying the condo he'd set his heart on.

But he'd never anticipated continuing to work that closely with Clarke Griffin. Of making their collaboration more or less... permanent.

When Clarke turned to him then with a tentative smile, a funny little _zing_ went up his spine, like his body knew something he didn't.

He smiled back, trying to project a confidence he didn't quite feel. Because he couldn't come up with a single real objection. Clarke had turned out to be surprisingly easy to work with, as well as clever and resourceful.

What the hell was _wrong_ with him?

It was only a few feature pieces, not his whole life.


	2. Chapter 2

"All in a Day's Work with Bellamy and Clarke."

After tossing around a bunch of other potential titles, that's what they'd finally agreed to call their series of vignettes about the foibles and follies - and occasional marvels - of everyday life.

(Clarke insisted Bellamy's name should come first because the original featurette had been his idea, and no amount of arguing seemed to change her mind.)

At first, Bellamy hadn't been certain they'd be able to come up with enough material to even keep the series going, but that turned out not to be the case. In addition to what popped into their fertile brains, viewers began to send in ideas, and some of them were pretty damn good. And then there was the suggestion box they'd left in the break room in case any of their co-workers wanted to toss in a few possibilities.

No matter the project, they always worked on it together, sometimes Bellamy taking the on-air lead, sometimes Clarke. Not that they always agreed, especially right at first. In fact, they'd had some real knockdown drag-outs before they finally worked out the kinks. But after a couple of months, things just kind of... clicked into place.

In the beginning, they just filmed stories they found nearby — people, places, and events they could easily reach on the T. But after a few months, their quest for fresh material began taking them all over New England in the beat-up Subaru that Bellamy had had since grad school.

They'd both quickly learned to operate the hand-held well enough that they didn't need to drag one of the already overworked camera guys with them. So it was just the two of them, Clarke and Bellamy, tooling around the city or the countryside in search of the most entertaining of life's little absurdities.

They'd both worried that the stories might become stale, the viewpoints cliche, or the ideas tired, but it was just the opposite. Everything about the features got better and better — the writing, the execution... even the camera work. In fact, within a few months, "All in a Day's Work" became the most popular regular feature on the station's news-hour.

They still did their weekend news reporting, of course, and were even given somewhat more hard-hitting assignments than the weather or victim interviews. Bellamy was regularly covering local politics now, a subject he'd always been fascinated by, while Clarke was penning insightful reports on the local arts scene.

As the months blurred together and turned into years, Bellamy felt buoyed that his career was going well. There even seemed to be a good chance he'd soon be promoted to a regular spot on the weeknight news.

And then there was the social situation he'd somehow drifted into. He and Clarke and Miller and Murphy, along with a few others from the station, had formed the nucleus of a pretty tight friend group, and Bellamy spent most of his off-work hours with them.

So after a couple of years in Boston, Bellamy was more than content with his life.

Meanwhile, he and Clarke had become friendlier and friendlier. And why not? They practically came from the same home town, after all, and although they'd had a rough start they each wanted the other to do well. Still, it wasn't until she took two weeks off a couple of summers later, and he missed her like hell, that Bellamy understood how deeply Clarke had woven herself into the fabric of his life.

Against all the odds, he realized with some surprise, she had become the best friend he'd ever had.

Shortly after Clarke returned from her 2-week holiday, a viewer suggested they do a piece on one of the old New England lighthouses. Bellamy was reluctant at first because... what the hell was there to say about a lighthouse?

But Clarke was immediately enthusiastic, telling him that as a history buff he ought to be ashamed if he wasn't into the romance of lighthouse keeping. Especially when so many of them dotted the rocky New England coastline.

She'd found a book called "_Lighthouses of America"_ and learned that one of the most famous lighthouses on the east coast was barely an hour's drive from Boston.

"Are you kidding?" she said. "It's the Maine coast in July! If you don't want to come, I'll do this one myself."

Bellamy chuckled but refrained from pointing out that he was the one with the transportation. And then immediately capitulated.

"Sold! Where we going?"

"Nubble Light. It's on Cape Neddick not far over the Maine state line."

"Okay, good. Since it's so close, with an early start we can easily get the whole thing done in one day."

Clarke hesitated, frowning. "Well, I was thinking that we could... uh... you know... maybe stay over. Drive up the coast a little ways, get more footage of the famous rocky shores. Eat lobster. And I, um, already checked, and they have some really nice bed and breakfasts all along the coast. It probably wouldn't be that hard to get rooms in the middle of the week."

Bellamy huffed his surprise. They'd been all over the place in the past eighteen months but it had always been day trips. Clarke had never before suggested an overnighter. More than suggested. She'd looked up fucking B&Bs!

"You think you can get Kane to spring for rooms?"

She shrugged. "Won't know until I ask. But... would you want to do that?"

"Sure," he said. "Why not?"

Clarke smiled broadly and ran off to find Kane. When she returned a few minutes later to tell him their expenses had been approved, Bellamy couldn't figure out why he felt such a surge of excitement. Hell, it was only two days on the Maine coast, not an all-expenses-paid trip to Hawaii.

When he picked her up early one morning the following week, Bellamy was surprised at number of bags she was hauling out to the car.

"You sure you got enough stuff?" he teased, eyeing an enormous garment bag. "Did you forget to tell me we were going to a ball? Cuz I didn't pack my tux."

"Shut up," she said without heat. "This is all for the spot."

Bellamy was taken aback. What the hell did she have in mind?

"For the spot? What are you...?"

"Never mind." She smiled mysteriously. "You'll see."

It was mid-morning by the time they reached the top of the winding hill that overlooked the tiny island that held Nubble Light. Clarke had insisted they'd have to visit the lighthouse more than once that day to fulfill her vision, and this was their first shot.

Bellamy wasn't sure what he'd expected, but it certainly wasn't the shortish lighthouse attached to a quaint wooden Victorian house, all surrounded by a white picket fence. There weren't many visitors at that time of day, so they had the place mostly to themselves.

He filmed the lighthouse from several angles, every shot awash in morning sunlight.

"We can come back later when the tourists are here," Clarke said. "I'll bet we get some great shots of kids climbing all over those rocks," she told him, eyeing the massive outcroppings that surrounded the spit of land.

Bellamy nodded. He wasn't surprised that she'd already imagined the whole featurette in her head. There was something peaceful and beautiful about the place, and Clarke was always at her best with stories that depended heavily on the visual.

When they checked into the B & B, he was surprised to find they'd been given adjoining rooms. She couldn't have... wouldn't have... asked for that, he was sure. No reason to, after all. It was probably just a coincidence. Or maybe a... a... misunderstanding.

Clarke seemed unconcerned and Bellamy wondered why the fuck he was making such a big deal out of it, if only inside his head.

After lunch, they drove up the coast to get the additional footage that would give their viewers a better feel for the place, taking turns filming each other while the surf pounded against the rocky shoreline. In late afternoon, they made a return visit to the lighthouse to catch the expected tourists.

And Clarke had been right. Kids were clambering all over those rocks. She skipped lightly down the incline, mic in hand, to interview them, while Bellamy caught it all on camera.

By the time they retired to the lobster shack, he was sure they must be done for the day, and he could enjoy his beer and seafood in peace.

But he was wrong.

"We need one more shot of the lighthouse," Clarke told him, her lips twisted again into that mysterious smile. "At twilight."

"What for?"

"You'll see. But first I need you to swing by the B & B."

What the hell could she have in mind, Bellamy wondered, as he waited for Clarke in front of their guesthouse. The mystery deepened when she emerged a few minutes later covered from head to toe in a voluminous rain slicker. Even though the temperature on the warm July evening was a dry 75 degrees.

"You taking up fishing?" he smirked, side-eyeing her as she slid into the passenger seat.

"Shut up," she said, rolling her eyes.

By the time they climbed to the lighthouse for the third time that day, there were only a few stragglers in the parking lot, and the sun was just beginning its descent into the long summer twilight.

"Set up as close to the lighthouse as you can get," she said, the few remaining tourists watching curiously as they unpacked their equipment.

Bellamy was so focused on getting set up before the last of the natural light deserted them that he didn't notice what had become of Clarke until she cleared her throat and spoke.

"I'm ready, Bellamy. You can start filming any time now."

Bellamy nodded without looking up, merely flipping on the lights and pointing the hand-held in the direction of her voice. So his first glimpse of her was through the lens of the camera.

His jaw dropped in surprise, the camera nearly slipping from his hand onto the asphalt.

Clarke wore a dress that would have been entirely appropriate a hundred and fifty years ago. For all that the bodice was intended to be modest, the material still stretched tightly across her generous breasts, then clung to her small waist before cascading around her to the ground.

Her blond curls - and how the _hell_ had he not noticed this in the car? - had been pulled around to the side and then pinned at the top of her head. But as usual, no matter how she wore her hair, a few wispy tendrils had pulled free and hung loosely around her face.

"Bellamy?" Through the lens he saw her frown. "What's the matter? Are you ready?"

Bellamy felt like a fool when he realized that Clarke had probably been calling to him for some time, but that he'd been far too entranced by the picture she made to even hear her, let alone respond.

"Yeah, okay, I'm ready," he said hastily, beginning to record. "What are you going to...uh...?"

"This is an old favorite," she said, holding up a book.

Bellamy quickly zoomed in to catch the title and the author.

"_The Lighthouse Keeper's Daughter" by Hazel Gaynor._

"_'They call me a heroine," _Clarke began to read in her rich contralto, "_but I am not deserving of such accolades. I am just an ordinary young woman who did her duty'."_

As she read, Bellamy continued to film, but the words were utterly lost on him. All he could seem to focus on was how captivating Clarke Griffin looked in her costume from a bygone era, the twilight slowly fading as she stood in front that lighthouse reading passages from a favorite novel.

_It's just a dress, _he told himself. _And an old building. Just a trick played on my mind by the magic of the setting sun._

It's still just _Clarke_.

But no matter how he struggled to give it a rational explanation, nothing seemed to dampen the excitement that coursed through him in that moment, or to suppress his sudden heightened _awareness_ of the girl he was watching through the lens of his camera.

He never even noticed she'd stopped reading until she suddenly asked, "Did you get all that, Bellamy?"

"Uh, yeah, I think so." He hardly knew how to respond.

"Okay, let's take a look."

Clarke moved quickly to his side and pressed playback, frowning slightly at what she saw.

"Hmmm. I'm not sure," she said, her frown deepening. "Do you think the light will hold long enough for us to try again?"

"No need," he said, finally raising his eyes to gaze at her directly. "That was perfect."

They stared at one another for a long moment. Bellamy wasn't sure what she saw in his face, but even in the encroaching darkness he could see her slight flush as she turned away and began packing up.

All day long they'd been chattering about the spot, about the breathtaking scenery, about enjoying their mini-vacation. But as they made their way back to the bed and breakfast both were suddenly silent.

Bellamy searched his head for the right words, something light-hearted and uncomplicated, something normal that would end the sudden unnatural quiet between them. Because the longer that silence continued, the more his hyper-awareness of Clarke grew.

But every word, every phrase, that slid into his brain seemed banal and pointless.

He felt enormously relieved when they finally pulled up to the guesthouse, and a few minutes later they were bidding each other good night.

Alone in his room, away from Clarke's disquieting presence, it didn't take him long to sort it all out. To understand that it wasn't really that split second by the lighthouse that had him so unnerved.

That was just the moment it had finally penetrated his brain.

Because he knew with a sudden stunning clarity that this wasn't really about the dress, or her hair, or her voice as she read from that book. This was about Clarke herself. About the feelings for her that already lay deep inside him. About... possibilities.

Bellamy didn't know what to do about it. The only thing he knew for sure was that the unexpected onslaught of unfamiliar feelings terrified him.

The knock was so gentle that at first he wasn't sure where the sound had come from. But when he heard it again, louder this time, he realized Clarke was rapping at the door that connected their rooms.

He jumped off the bed and flew to the door, opening it with bang.

"Clarke! Is everything okay?"

Her hair was down now, falling about her shoulders, and she'd shed her costume for the shorts and tank top he assumed she wore to sleep.

She looked up at him with uncertain eyes.

"That's what I was going to ask you, Bellamy. Is everything okay... between us?"

Bellamy sucked in a breath.

"Clarke," he said again, more softly this time, reaching up to tuck a stray curl behind her ear.

When her breath hitched at his touch, he knew he wasn't the only one... feeling things. And somehow that made it all the more dangerous.

"Everything is great between us," he said, reluctantly dropping his hand, "just like always. And maybe... that's the problem."

"What do you mean?"

Bellamy groaned lightly. "I think you know exactly what I mean, Clarke."

Her lips curved into a half-smile as she reached out hesitantly and ran a finger along his jaw.

"Please don't," he said softly, reaching up to grasp her hand and pull it away from his face. "I can hardly deal with being here with you like this. If you touch me like that, it just makes it so much harder."

"Does it... does it have to be hard at all?" she asked, her expression earnest.

"You know it does. You're my best friend and my work partner and I never want to lose that. Any of it."

"You could never lose that, Bellamy. I'd always be your best friend... no matter what happened."

"You don't know that!" he insisted vehemently. "I've never had a friend like you before. Someone I trusted so much and worked with so well. I can't... I don't want to take that chance. You're too important to me." Bellamy sighed. "And if things stay just this way, we get to always be in each others' lives."

Clarkes searched his face, and while he wasn't sure what she was looking for, she finally nodded, as if maybe she'd found it. Whatever it was.

"Okay," she said, her expression unreadable. "I wouldn't ever want you not in my life, either."

But then the half-smile bloomed again.

"Can I at least hug you?" she asked softly.

Bellamy laughed quietly, filled with emotion. Half relief, half longing.

"Of course," he said, pulling her into his arms. "Hugs are always available for my best friend."

When Clarke's arms circled him tightly and he felt her small body melt into him, Bellamy's heart experienced such yearning that he began to wonder if he'd made the right decision after all. After all, there was always the possibility that things might work out. That he could have it all.

But then he remembered all over again everything that he could lose, and he steeled his heart against the temptation he was holding in his arms.


	3. Chapter 3

Just at first, Bellamy had been worried there'd be some blowback from their trip to Maine, some awkwardness between Clarke and him that hadn't been there before. He was relieved when that didn't happen, grateful to find that their friendship was apparently solid enough to take that little blip in stride.

And after all, it wasn't _really_ such a big deal. He and Clarke had suddenly discovered (although Bellamy knew very well it was only the _discovery_ that was sudden) that they were attracted to one another in a way that could have taken them beyond the bounds of mere friendship. But they'd mutually decided not to pursue that path.

Bellamy felt pretty good about that decision because he knew it was the right one, the sensible one. He was certain that any small peripheral feelings of disappointment would subside sooner rather than later.

So when scarcely a month later Clarke casually mentioned that she'd met someone she wanted to date, he assured himself that the slight twinge of discomfort he felt could in no way be construed as _jealousy_. He just needed to get out into the dating scene himself, that was all.

Bellamy couldn't, in fact, remember when he'd last had anything that resembled a proper date. Since he'd gotten to Boston, he'd immersed himself in the reporting, and the featurettes with Clarke, and the friend group that included Clarke. And sometimes, even, just hanging one-on-one with Clarke.

But since Clarke had clearly gotten past their almost-whatever-it-was and moved on with her new girlfriend Lexa, Bellamy figured it was high time he do the same.

That's why he let Murphy talk him into going out to a club one Tuesday night. He didn't start the evening with high hopes, but when an attractive girl named Gina began a conversation with him, Bellamy found it was pretty easy to get his groove back.

When Bellamy learned that Gina was the assistant manager of a restaurant, and that their work schedules more or less jibed, he figured meeting her must have been fate. Soon they were seeing each other on a regular basis, whenever they could fit it into their busy lives.

Bellamy liked Gina. He liked her a lot. She was cheerful and funny, and her company was an oasis from whatever stresses might be plaguing him in the other parts of his life.

And the sex was damn good, too. It'd been so long since he'd really had a physical relationship with anyone that he was happy to find that he seemed to be able to more than satisfy her.

So altogether, he thought it was going pretty well.

But he didn't try to fool himself that he was in love with Gina. Because as much as he enjoyed being around her, if they went a week without seeing each other, he didn't really miss her. And for as much as he liked and even admired her, deeper feelings just never seemed to develop.

Bellamy refused to speculate on why that was, except that obviously Gina wasn't..._ the one_.

As autumn merged into winter, things with Clarke continued mostly unchanged. They still produced their weekly featurettes and spent time with their mutual friend group. But the one-on-one hangouts stopped. And while they still had long discussions about all sorts of things, the subject of their significant others was somehow, by unspoken mutual agreement, strictly off-limits.

When the weather finally warmed and spring was once again upon them, Bellamy began to notice a certain restlessness within himself. It occurred to him more than once that maybe the problem was that it was time for him to move on, perhaps to a bigger city. But every time he thought about leaving the station a feeling of panic set in that he didn't want to examine too closely.

And then, on July 3rd, he was witness to a tragedy that put his own paltry problems into perspective and also, ironically, changed his life.

The first Bellamy heard about it was when the news director, Marcus Kane, came rushing into the editing room where he and Clarke were working on their latest feature spot.

"Thank god! I hoped you two might be in the building!"

"What the hell's wrong, Marcus?"

Bellamy had never seen his boss looking quite so distraught.

"Some guy crashed a small plane into the Longfellow Bridge. That's only a half-mile from the Hatch Shell where the Boston Pops was rehearsing for tomorrow night's concert and thousands of people were watching. It's absolute chaos down there!"

"Oh, my god!"

The shock in Clarke's voice mirrored his own.

"Was it terrorists or just some kind of freak accident?" the newsman in Bellamy couldn't help asking.

Kane shook his head. "No one seems to know right now. That's what Charmaine and Indra are trying to find out."

"Charmaine and Indra? What the hell are they doing down there?"

As weeknight anchors, Charmaine Diyoza and Indra Woods held the most prestigious jobs in the news department — and they were definitely not sent out to cover local news. Not even terrible tragedies like the one that was currently unfolding along the banks of the Charles River.

"Rehearsing. They're the hosts for this year's concert. And since they're already in the thick of it, they want to stay and cover it. They'd have a hell of a time getting back here anyway because all the roads in that area have been shut down."

Bellamy nodded. "So... Dax and Roma..." Of course, the weekend anchors would have to be called to fill in.

"Are both on vacation." Kane looked thoughtful. "And besides, I'm... not sure I'd want to trust them with this."

When he paused, narrowing his eyes at them, Bellamy's heart began to thrum. Because he suddenly knew exactly why Kane had searched them out.

"We're probably going to be running with this story all night and I want you two to take the anchor desk."

_"What!"_

It was obvious that while he'd anticipated Kane's words, Clarke had not.

"I mean... why us?" she asked, clearly perplexed.

Kane shrugged.

"Because you two are already a team, used to each other, and you've developed a kind of... natural rhythm that seems to work for you. So I know you'll be able to handle something this important, even if it's last-minute."

He frowned then, narrowing his eyes at them. "I assume you have an emergency stash of professional clothes somewhere? Not sure the station management would look too kindly on jeans."

They both nodded, but then Bellamy had another thought.

"I don't have my contacts with me, Marcus," he said quickly.

Kane frowned in confusion. "What?"

"I used up the emergency stash of contact lenses I keep at the station," Bellamy explained, beginning to feel slightly ridiculous. "I've only got my glasses and I can't see the teleprompter without them..."

His voice trailed off as Kane's brow wrinkled and his frown deepened.

"Are you telling me you're too vain to go on the air wearing your glasses?"

Bellamy's jaw dropped in astonishment.

"Fuck, no! I just thought, you know, management, uh, wanted us to look a certain way..."

Kane sighed. "You're a good-looking guy, Bellamy, as a whole lot of viewers keep telling us. But that's not why I hired you. I couldn't care less if you wear your glasses."

Bellamy just barely kept himself from gaping in surprise. For three years, there'd remained that small niggling doubt about why he was there at all. And here at last was an answer. Somehow it felt like a reward.

"You're on in twenty minutes," Kane advised them, before hurrying out the door.

"I like your glasses," Clarke said unexpectedly, as soon as Kane left the room.

"What?" Bellamy shifted towards her in surprise.

She gave a small shrug. "I like you in your glasses. They seem more like... the real you."

Bellamy stared at Clarke in confusion, having no idea what to make of that confession. Eventually, her cheeks began to flush, as though maybe she'd thought better of revealing such a personal observation.

"Don't let it go to your head," she said snippily, before bolting from the room.

But it was too late. Bellamy couldn't help the silly grin that spread across his face at her admission.

XXXXXXXXXX

In the end, they were on the air for nearly six hours straight. Fielding reports from the crash site, from first responders, from city hall, from aviation experts... and from just about anyone else the station could pull in that might give their viewers another perspective on the tragedy.

The intelligence community quickly determined that the crash wasn't an act of terrorism after all, but a terrible accident, cause still under investigation. But that didn't make the carnage any less horrific, or the loss of life any less distressing.

Bellamy knew a lot of eyes were on them that day. Not just there in Boston, but all around the country - possibly even the world. He didn't want to let either the station or the viewers down, and he was certain Clarke felt the same.

Fortunately, Kane had been right about one thing. He and Clarke had worked together for so long, and on so many different types of stories, that by now they'd developed a feel for each other's style, a kind of unspoken shorthand. Knowing when to take the lead and when to toss it back to the other helped them immeasurably as they navigated their way through all the reports from the constantly-shifting story.

After a while, the newsroom began to take on a surreal quality, and Bellamy could focus on nothing except the voice in his ear, the words in front of him, and the woman beside him. Everything else was a blur.

So it wasn't surprising that when Charmaine and Indra suddenly swept onto the set during a commercial break, and Bellamy finally looked up at the clock, he was amazed to find that it was nearly eleven.

"Thanks for filling in, guys," Indra said. "We saw a lot of it and you've both been doing a fantastic job."

What she didn't say - but was nevertheless abundantly clear as she hovered over him - was _and now you can get the hell out of my chair._

Bellamy glanced over at Clarke, finding her equally amused. They rose quickly, and Indra and Anya slid into their seats with barely a minute to spare before the start of the regular news hour.

"Great reporting from the field, Indra," he said as he stepped away from the desk, including Charmaine with a nod.

"Thanks, kid, we like to think we still have it in us." Indra gave him a broad wink.

"Hey, I know I still got it, girl," Charmaine said, swiveling around in the seat just vacated by Clarke. "Not so sure about you."

Bellamy laughed, used to the off-air byplay between the newswomen, who were also great pals.

"Hey, Bellamy," Charmaine called suddenly, just as Bellamy and Clarke were skirting the cameras to make their way out of the room.

"Yeah?" He turned in surprise.

"Nice specs," she said, smirking. "Very professorial."

Beside him, he heard Clarke giggle, and suddenly, despite their long and grueling night, they were both convulsed in laughter.

"Hey, will you two assholes get the hell off my set?" the producer barked from the control booth. "We're about to go on the air."

Bellamy and Clarke stumbled out the door and down the hall, making it only as far as the break room before collapsing onto the couch in exhaustion. Five minutes before, they'd been running on adrenaline, reporting the news at a fast clip. But that had come to a halt, and when the crash came it was sudden and complete.

"Hey," Bellamy said quietly, when he saw Clarke's eyelids begin to droop, "you want something to eat? Or... I can take you home if you want."

"Can't I just stay right here?" she whined, yawning hugely.

She'd kicked off her shoes and tucked her legs to the side, and was now leaning heavily against him.

"Sure," he said, swallowing painfully, suddenly more intensely aware of Clarke than he'd been all night.

As he wrapped an arm around her, Bellamy considered how long it had been since his best friend had crumpled against him like this. Not since before last year's trip to Maine. And now here she was again, cuddled into him, her soft curves pressed against him in ways that he was forced to concede were still dangerous to his peace of mind.

Bellamy wondered if he should move... or move Clarke... or maybe both of them...

Seconds later they were fast asleep.

XXXXXXXXXX

It was two weeks later that Kane called them into his office. Bellamy was surprised to see that Thelonious Jaha was there, too, arms folded across his chest as he leaned nonchalantly against the wall. The station manager smiled and nodded the two them toward a couple of chairs.

They took the seats across the desk from Kane, and Bellamy glanced quickly at Clarke, but she looked as puzzled as he felt.

"Thelonious and I have been having some conversations over the past couple of weeks," Kane began, folding his hands together, "about how we can best utilize your talents."

Jaha interrupted suddenly.

"Clarke, Bellamy... great job filling in at the anchor desk under very difficult circumstances. A lot of people were... quite impressed."

Bellamy could barely hide his surprise. While they'd gotten some positive feedback from their colleagues in the news department, he'd never been sure that Jaha even knew his name.

"Thanks," he said briefly, his eyes darting to Clarke.

"We really just wanted to do our best," she added.

"Well, it turns out your best is pretty damn good," Kane said. "So good that we've decided we'd like you to take over as weekend news anchors."

In his shock, Bellamy's eyes automatically sought Clarke's yet again, and he could see that she was just as surprised and excited as he was at this unexpected promotion.

He smiled at her before turning back to Kane.

"So when do we start?"

XXXXXXXXXX

The transition from staff reporter to anchor was more challenging than either Bellamy or Clarke had anticipated.

Instead of focusing on an in-depth understanding of just one or two stories, they now had to keep abreast of not only the local news but also the more important national and international stories. They never knew when they'd be reporting a break in one of those stories and they couldn't afford to sound like they didn't know what the hell they were talking about.

Bellamy suspected that was where their predecessors had screwed up, and he and Clarke were determined to do better.

Unsurprisingly, they used a team approach.

After the regular news-staff meetings, they divided up the biggest stories and researched them on their own. Then they met up the next day and briefed each other.

This took up so much of their free time that they were forced to cut their featurettes to every other week. Even so, it meant more time at work than ever before, which didn't bother Bellamy in the slightest. And at first, Clarke seemed just as eager as he was to do the job right.

So Bellamy was surprised a couple of months later when Clarke blew off one of their one-on-one briefings, and then showed up for the next one totally unprepared. He supposed he should have been pissed, but he was mostly just confused. Because Clarke Griffin was one of the most dependable and conscientious people he'd ever known.

"Uh, don't worry about it," he said reassuringly, when she couldn't quite meet his eyes. "If you didn't have time..."

"I was with Lexa," she blurted out, for once bringing up the person they never, ever talked about.

With a sigh, she finally met his eyes.

"She... wants me to quit."

Bellamy was unprepared for the surge of sheer panic that raced through him at the thought that Clarke might actually be considering this.

"What? She wants you to quit your job? Doesn't she understand what a plum it is? How many people would give their eye teeth..."

"She says it's garbage."

"Garbage? What's garbage?"

"Television news is. Lexa thinks it isn't real journalism. That I'm wasting my time here when I could be doing something... more important."

With lightning speed, Bellamy's panic morphed into seething anger.

"She told you that your chosen profession was garbage?" he asked through gritted teeth. "And do you believe her?"

Tendrils of panic were beginning to work their way back into the anger.

Clarke shook her head quickly.

"No. I think she's just... jealous of the amount of time I'm spending lately with... that is, uh," she faltered a bit, "here at the station."

Bellamy nodded a little stiffly, still appalled that someone who was supposed to care about Clarke could try to undermine her confidence like that.

"So how are you going to resolve this? Can you try to change her mind or..."

"I'm going to break up with her," she said abruptly.

Bellamy's mouth opened in surprise. It was not at all what he'd expected.

"Just like that?"

"Just like that." She paused, shrugging lightly. "I finally figured out she... isn't what I want after all."

He could only nod. And silently agree.

And feel immense relief.

"We can pick this up tomorrow if you want, Clarke. Why don't you go home?"

She nodded gratefully, and seconds later she was out the door.

Bellamy sighed, remembering Clarke's words. Lexa... _wasn't who she wanted._

And knew what he had to do.

He'd been so busy lately that he hadn't seen Gina in a couple of weeks, so she was a little surprised when he called. But later, over a drink, she didn't seem at all surprised when he told her he didn't think they should see each other anymore. He hadn't really given her a reason but he was prepared to plead "too busy" if she wanted one.

But he was _unprepared_ for the directness of her actual response.

"So is it her, then? Your, uh, partner?"

Bellamy shrugged carefully. "Clarke and I aren't anything other than partners, if that's what you're asking me."

Gina eyed him thoughtfully.

"That's not really what I was asking, Bellamy, but it sounds like that's the only question you're willing to answer."


	4. Chapter 4

As far as Bellamy was concerned, it had been the best couple of years of his life.

Not only was he working at a job he loved and was good at, but he was successful enough that he'd been able to afford the mortgage on a small condo right in downtown Boston. A city he'd fallen in love with now that he didn't have to deal with the heat waves and the blizzards up close and personal.

He'd even gotten rid of his 15-year-old clunker and bought a small SUV, although it mostly stayed parked in his designated spot in the underground garage. On Saturdays and Sundays, when he had anchor duty, the station sent a car to ferry him to and from the studio. During the week, when there was a staff meeting or he had to meet up with Clarke for their one-on-one briefings, he usually found the T was faster than dealing with city traffic.

So mostly, he used his car when he and Clarke took off from the city in search of a great story for one of their still-popular featurettes. Although these days they were lucky if they found the time to do more than one a month.

Still, Bellamy would never have dreamed of giving them up altogether. Because those were always the best days of all: just the two of them, off on an adventure, roaming around the state finding curious and compelling stories to bring to their viewers.

Sometimes they even ventured further afield, to other parts of New England. But neither ever again suggested an overnighter. They'd never talked about or even alluded to their trip to Maine, but Bellamy knew it was tacitly understood between them that if a story couldn't be wrapped up in one day they moved right past it and on to the next good idea.

As for his social life, Bellamy would have been the first to admit that there wasn't much to it. He sometimes went out with his friends, but if Clarke didn't happen to be part of the group that particular night he was invariably the first to leave. If the others teased him about being an old man, he'd just laugh and remind them that he was already a few years past the 30th birthday party they'd thrown for him.

He was grateful that none of them ever seemed to catch on to the fact that on those nights that Clarke was around he always stayed until the bitter end.

So, yeah, the one part of his life that was perhaps not quite so perfect was his personal life.

After his break-up with Gina, Bellamy hadn't even looked for someone new to date, although he wasn't always successful at avoiding his friends' attempts to fix him up. Not that the fix-up dates were uniformly terrible. In fact, sometimes he liked the women well enough to want to see them again.

But none of the dates ever led to any kind of long-term relationship. Or short-term, for that matter. In fact, he'd eventually learned to sense exactly when he needed to pull back, because the last thing Bellamy wanted was to hurt anyone the way he suspected he'd hurt Gina.

He never tried to fool himself about why things were the way they were. He'd long ago accepted that he was happier just being around Clarke - at work, on their jaunts into the countryside, with their friend group - than he ever was on an actual date with anyone else.

In his more introspective moments, he understood how truly pathetic that was.

But after five years, there were two things of which Bellamy was absolutely certain.

The first was that Clarke Griffin was now his best friend in the world, closer to him than anyone else had ever been, and his partner in every possible way. Except one.

And the second thing was... somewhere along the line he'd fallen helplessly in love with her.

He knew he had no one but himself to blame for this sorry state of affairs. Clarke had tentatively reached out to him years ago and he'd shut her down, told her it wasn't a good idea, insisted they needed to remain only friends. And been foolishly sure it would be just that simple.

It had taken him a while to realize just how well he'd managed to cut off the path to his own happiness.

But after all this time, Bellamy was damn sick of pining. Sick of having to see Clarke nearly every day but not really being able to be with her. Sick of hiding his feelings all day and spending his nights missing what he'd never had.

And he'd begun to think that just maybe it wasn't too late, that he could find a way to convince her that he deserved another chance. If only he could figure out how.

XXXXXXXXXX

Bellamy and Clarke were working on a featurette late one afternoon when they got another of those command appearance missives, this time from the station manager himself.

Both were utterly mystified.

"Have we screwed up so big time that Jaha needs to get involved?" Clarke asked, as they made their way up two floors and across the building to his office.

Bellamy shrugged. "I don't think so, but this is TV, after all. Maybe they don't like our recent wardrobe choices," he suggested with a smirk.

She laughed and elbowed him in the ribs.

"Yeah, I don't think that's it, considering they provide our on-air clothing."

"No? Well, then maybe they want you to dye your hair back to its natural brown for a more intellectual look. Or maybe I need to grow a mustache."

"You're an idiot," she said, rolling her eyes, as they started down the long corridor toward the management offices. "This isn't about our appearance."

"No?"

"No," she declared, shaking her head. "There's nothing wrong with our appearance."

"Not even mine?" he murmured, winking at her as he opened the heavy glass door into the suite of offices.

He wasn't surprised when Clarke glanced up quizzically. He never flirted with her like that, never extracted silly compliments. Never let himself indulge in that sort of conversation at all. He knew he must have been daydreaming too damn much lately about what it would be like to actually _be_ with Clarke and that it was probably affecting his behavior.

"Come on," she said, her tone brisk, although he was sure he detected a slight flush on her cheeks. "Let's find out why we're being called on the carpet."

When they were ushered into Jaha's impressive office, Bellamy wasn't surprised to see Marcus Kane there, since he was the news director and their immediate boss. But he was a bit startled to find Indra Woods smiling up at them from a very plush sofa.

"Bellamy, Clarke," Jaha rose politely to greet them. "Thanks for joining us. Have a seat."

They nodded, silently slipping into the two leather-upholstered chairs that faced Jaha's desk.

Bellamy had never before been inside the station manager's office, and he found it a little intimidating. Their own shared office space was nowhere near as grand as this.

"You're probably wondering why Indra's here," Jaha said.

"Always nice to see you, Indra," Bellamy told her with a smile. The woman had always been one of his favorite colleagues.

"Don't you be flashing that million-dollar smile at me, Bellamy Blake," Indra teased. "That doesn't work on this old girl."

Bellamy felt his face heating while beside him Clarke snorted.

"He does tend to work the charming smile, doesn't he, Indra? But don't worry, he's harmless."

"Well, it's fortunate for all of us that there's a little more to Bellamy than his smile," Kane said pleasantly. "And Clarke, too, of course."

Bellamy blinked. He was grateful for the compliment but this seemed a little... weird.

"What's going on?" he asked bluntly, more direct and more impatient than he usually was with his bosses.

Indra spoke up before Jaha could respond.

"Let me tell them," she said, turning eagerly toward Bellamy and Clarke.

"First of all, you two can just get yourselves over here and give me a hug because I'm leaving this hick town and going to work for the network."

"What? That's great!" Bellamy said, genuinely happy for her. He rose to give her the requested hug, but Clarke got there first.

"Congratulations," Clarke said, embracing her tightly. "No one deserves it more. But I'll miss you."

"We both will," Bellamy said, wrapping Indra in his own quick hug.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Indra said, waving them away. "You can sit back down, because I got more news."

They both nodded as they slid back into their chairs, waiting for her to continue.

"So the thing is, when I told Charmaine I was leaving, she said it was the perfect time for her to take a couple of years off and finally write that book she's been talking about forever."

Bellamy was a little perplexed. This was all great news, but he couldn't imagine why they were getting a special briefing since none of it had anything to do with them.

But Indra wasn't finished.

"So I told Thelonious and Marcus that unless they were both complete morons they couldn't possibly consider anyone to replace us on the weeknight anchor desk except... the two of you," she said with a smile and a flourish of her hand.

That was the moment Bellamy knew his brain must have gone numb because he was sure he couldn't have heard her correctly. When Clarke swiveled to meet his eyes, she looked just as confused as he felt.

Neither of them spoke, and Indra frowned in irritation.

"What the hell is wrong with you two! You've just heard you're being offered the top news jobs at the station and you don't have anything to say?"

Bellamy turned away from Clarke, his eyes darting toward Kane and Jaha.

"Well, uh..."

"I think maybe they want it from the horse's mouth, Indra," Jaha said.

"Well, I'm no horse," Indra said drily, "but you go right ahead, Thelonious."

Jaha laughed quietly, shaking his head at Indra's trademark snark.

"Both Indra and Charmaine highly recommended you, and Marcus and I agreed. Starting next month, you're moving to weeknights. With an appropriate salary boost, of course, which we'll discuss later."

When they still failed to respond, Jaha frowned. "Unless, of course, you'd like to decline."

And that finally got their mouths in gear.

"No, of course not..."

"We just never expected..."

Kane spoke up then.

"I understand you're surprised. We all know there are a lot of other people around here with more seniority. But none of them have your extraordinary sense of teamwork. Believe me, we wouldn't have made this decision if we didn't think you were the best people for the job."

When he recalled it later, Bellamy _thinks_ that at that point he thanked Jaha for the opportunity, that he shook hands all around, and that Clarke did the same. But he wasn't really sure and he was always too embarrassed to ask.

It wasn't until a few minutes later when he and Clarke got back to their own small and not-at-all impressive office that it began to sink in, and even _then_ Bellamy could hardly believe it.

They had leapfrogged over at least a dozen more experienced reporters and risen to the top news jobs in a major market. It was the kind of opportunity that many TV newspeople worked towards their whole lives, and still never quite managed to grasp.

Yet here they were, at only 33 and 28, already on top of the heap.

It was a lot to take in.

As they gazed at each other in disbelief, he finally felt the excitement kick in, and pretty soon he and Clarke were grinning at each other like a couple of idiots. Without giving it a single thought, he caught Clarke by the waist and swung her into the air. She laughed in surprise but grabbed onto his neck while they spun around like a couple of kids on the playground.

After a moment he set her down, but he couldn't quite bring himself to step away. It somehow felt much more natural to drag her closer, to splay his hands across her back, and pull her tightly against him. Clarke's arms were still wound around his neck and they simply sank into one another, their embrace now becoming much more personal.

She buried her face in his neck, and Bellamy was overwhelmed by the lemony scent of her shampoo and the silky softness of her hair. When she still didn't pull away, his heart began to race for reasons that had nothing at all to do with his new job and everything to do with the girl in his arms.

Clarke leaned back just enough to search his face, and when he saw how she was looking at him he could barely breathe for wanting her. It was hard to keep himself in check, hard not close those last few inches to capture her lips with his own. Hard not to kiss her silly, and then drag her home with him and do his best to keep her there all night.

Bellamy took a deep breath, trying to control his wayward responses. _First he had to be sure they were on the same page._

"Clarke." His mouth was smiling but his throat was so dry he could hardly get the words out. "I think maybe... we should talk."

Her lips curved up in a soft smile of her own. "I think so, too," she nodded. "Let's talk"

"Not here. We could maybe, uh, go to my place..."

He was interrupted by a sudden sharp rap, followed almost immediately by Marcus Kane opening the office door and sticking his head inside.

"I just wanted to tell you both..." Kane began, but then his eyes widened, his voice trailed off, and he quickly changed course.

"I didn't mean to, uh, interrupt. Just wanted to say how proud I am of you both," he said, looking slightly flustered.

Clarke recovered first and gave Kane a smile.

"You're not interrupting, Marcus. We were just... celebrating." She turned back to Bellamy. "I need to grab a couple of things, then maybe we can share an Uber and finally get away from this place."

He nodded. "Good idea. I'm about ready to pack it in, too. I'll meet you in the lobby."

After Clarke swept out of the office, Bellamy reached out to shake Kane's hand once again.

"We're the ones who should be thanking you," he said. "None of this would have happened if you hadn't had faith in us, Marcus."

Kane shrugged dismissively. "I hired you but you did the rest yourselves."

He paused as though he might have something else he wanted to say, but then seemed to change his mind.

"I'll let you get out of here," he said quickly, turning toward the door.

Bellamy nodded, grabbing his phone and switching off the lights, but when he looked up a few moments later Marcus was still standing in the doorway.

"Was there something...?"

Kane frowned, and when he finally spoke it seemed to Bellamy like the words were being pulled out of him.

"I know damn well this is none of my business, Bellamy, but I'm going to ask anyway. Is your relationship with Clarke more than just, uh, good friends?"

Bellamy felt his back stiffen. "You're right, Marcus. That _isn't_ any of your business." He paused, suddenly wary. "Would you have some objection if it was... more than friends?"

Kane shook his head. "No, of course not. What you do on your own time..." He sighed, seeming to backtrack. "Never mind. Forget I said anything. Since you started working together, you two have never been anything other than professional, and it really isn't my business."

But suddenly it was Bellamy who couldn't let it go, because Marcus Kane was usually the last person to butt into someone's private life.

"Then why did you bring it up? Is there some kind of... prohibition that I don't know about? Would Jaha or the stations owners object? Something like that?"

"God, no! They know better than that. It's a lot more likely they'd try to subtly use it for publicity, so if you want to retain your privacy, you might want to keep things on the down low..."

"We... aren't involved," Bellamy sputtered. "Not like that. But I know you're trying to tell me something, so why don't you just, I don't know, spit it out."

Kane sighed but Bellamy was sure that what he read in the man's face was relief.

"Look, Bellamy, I know you two are very close friends and I think that's why you work together so well. But I can tell you from..." he paused, "very bitter experience that if you let yourself become romantically involved with your on-air partner it can just blow up in your face. And then everyone loses."

Bellamy frowned. "Bitter experience?"

Kane looked pained. "Have you ever heard of Callie Cartwig?"

When Bellamy shook his head, Kane nodded, as though it was what he'd expected.

"No, but if it hadn't been for me, you probably would have. We were weeknight co-anchors in Atlanta, and she was headed for the networks for sure. And then we just..." for an instant his his eyes took on a faraway look, "fell in love. And at first things were... fine. More than fine. But then, after a while, they... weren't. We had a fight one night just before we went on the air. I'd been trying to end it and Callie was... still upset with me."

"And?" Bellamy prompted when Kane suddenly stopped.

"And," he continued reluctantly, "she was so angry that she couldn't seem to focus and then she just... completely went off the rails."

"On the air?" Bellamy was aghast.

"On the air."

"What happened?"

Kane's lips twisted painfully. "Just what you'd expect. She was fired and could never get another anchor job." He sighed. "Last I heard she was working the local news back in the small town she grew up in. And I... decided to work behind the scenes instead of on-camera."

For a moment Bellamy studied Kane in silence.

"That would never happen to us," he said finally.

"I agree that Clarke certainly has more self-control than that, but..."

"No, what I meant was that if I was lucky enough to ever actually _be_ with Clarke I'd never want to end it."

Kane sighed again. "I see," he said. "Well, knowing how you feel about her, I'd say you'll have to decide if it's worth the risk."

XXXXXXXXXX

"Where have you been?" Clarke said when he finally made it to the lobby a few minutes later. "I was afraid the Uber would come and you still wouldn't be down."

"Sorry, I got held up..."

"Oh, here it is now," she interrupted, and Bellamy saw a small car pull up just outside the front entrance.

"Come on," she said, tugging at him, when he failed to immediately move. "You know how these drivers can be if they think you're not a legit customer. He might just take off."

Bellamy followed Clarke out the door, but all the time his mind was racing as he turned over the story Kane had just told him. About the crap that can go down when things don't work out with a romantic partner.

Kane's story was a cautionary tale about a professional meltdown, but that wasn't what Bellamy was worried about. He knew instinctively that neither he nor Clarke would ever be that out of control, no matter what.

Just as he knew that once he was with her he'd never want to leave her.

But... what if it was the other way around? What if they started something... and then she wanted out? Would their friendship be able to survive it? Could they revert to the relationship they had now? Or would Clarke find it too stressful and want to move elsewhere?

_Somewhere he wasn't._

Clarke was already his best friend. Often, quite literally, his other half. He was pretty sure he wouldn't be able to deal with her disappearing from his life.

As he slid onto the seat beside her, Bellamy's heart dropped into his stomach when he suddenly understood exactly what it was he had to do. Or... in this case... not do.

He opened his mouth and gave the driver Clarke's address.

She turned to him in surprise.

"I thought we were going to your place, Bellamy. To... talk."

Bellamy sighed. "Clarke, I've been thinking it might be better for us if we didn't have that... talk after all."

He watched as realization hit her. Her face fell, and her eyes filled with disappointment. Again.

"Are you sure? I mean I thought... after all this time... it was what we both wanted,"

Bellamy could barely stand to look at her. He knew he must seem erratic and fickle, or worst of all, cowardly. But he was in the grip of a sudden dread that trying to change what they were to each other would inevitably lead to losing her altogether. He refused to let that happen.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, dying a little inside because he knew he was probably hurting her. But better a small hurt now than something so much worse later on.

Clarke stared at him for a few moments, as though trying to see inside his head, before finally nodding briefly. Then she settled into her corner of the seat, twisting around to look out the side window.

"If that's what you really want," she said, her quiet voice nothing like her usual brisk tones, "I understand."

When they reached Clarke's small apartment building, she slipped out quickly, then seemed to square her shoulders before turning back to him with a soft smile.

"Good night, Bellamy," she said. "See you tomorrow."

"Good night, Clarke," he said, forcing himself to return her smile.

But when he heard the quiet click of the door shutting, he knew it wasn't just the noise of the lock engaging. He knew it was also the sound of his heart breaking.


	5. Chapter 5

Bellamy's decision not to have that conversation with Clarke after all, not to try to change their relationship despite how much he yearned for it, had been excruciatingly difficult for him. He thought maybe even... the most difficult decision of his life.

Even worse, as he'd watched her walk away that night, he'd been plagued by the sudden terrible fear that his about-face might have driven a wedge between them anyway, bringing about the very situation he'd been trying to prevent. Or if nothing else, that things with Clarke would now be unbearably awkward.

But that wasn't what happened at all. At least... not at first.

Bellamy had spent a sleepless night worried that he'd managed to totally fuck up their friendship, but when he finally dragged himself into work the next day, Clarke seemed... just like always. By the time they'd finished their newscast, Bellamy was enormously relieved that their dynamic was still just as natural and easy as it had always been.

And yet. _And yet..._

He couldn't quite put his finger on it.

Certainly everything had seemed just as usual as they wound their way through negotiations with Jaha. As always, they'd insisted on equal salary and benefits.

"We've been here exactly the same length of time," they'd told Kane years earlier, when they'd moved into the weekend anchor slots. "So I hope nothing in our contracts is going to be based on who's got which body parts."

"Point taken." Kane had nodded, an amused quirk on his lips, but Bellamy had always thought he'd been impressed by their solidarity.

This time around, Jaha had assured them up front that they were being treated equally.

Once the contracts were signed, the rest of the transition felt like a breeze. He and Clarke made recommendations about who should replace them on the weekends, and in less time than Bellamy could have imagined they'd been installed as the station's premiere anchors.

And through it all, Clarke had seemed _nearly_ the same as always. Maybe... somewhat quieter, a little more thoughful, a _tiny_ bit less animated, but he put that down to the natural stress of taking on such a huge responsibility. Hell, he felt that way himself, but maybe he was just better at hiding it.

"Hey, lighten up," he finally told her with a smile, as they waited in makeup a couple of months into their new gig. He hated to see the worry lines on her forehead. "It's all going great."

"Yeah? Then why did they bring in a new producer?"

Bellamy's brows rose in surprise.

"That was about _her_, not us. You know Ontari was a bitch, Clarke. You can't possibly have been sorry to see her go. "

Clarke gazed at him thoughtfully.

"So what about this new one? Echo."

He shrugged. A producer was a producer. A necessary annoyance in the broadcast news business. He'd lived through plenty of them, and this one seemed less irritating than a lot of the others.

"She seems okay. Maybe a little pushy. But, uh... friendly."

"_Friendly_." Clarke's lips twisted in a sardonic little grimace. "Yeah, I guess that might be... one way of putting it. Of course, there was that thing about your glasses. Why was it again that you had switch to contacts?"

Bellamy frowned. _Now_ she wanted to talk about that? She certainly hadn't had much to say on the subject when Echo had made the request a couple of weeks back.

"_Why the hell would you want to hide that face behind a pair of glasses?" _

On her second day as their producer, Echo Winters had breezed into the makeup room and tossed out that question point blank, then added, "Don't you have contacts?"

And for just a moment, all of Bellamy's old insecurities had threatened to make a return appearance.

"I thought the idea was to report the news," he'd protested, his voice tight. "Not display the newscaster."

"It is," Echo had agreed, smiling, "and no one's saying you're not good at your job, Bellamy. But," and here her professional smile had become a little warmer, almost... personal, "we also want viewers. And if a few of them enjoy having their news delivered by a handsome guy whose face isn't obscured by glasses," she'd shrugged, still smiling, "then what's the harm?"

Bellamy had felt himself flushing a little, but when he'd turned to Clarke for support and input, she'd just looked back at him blankly.

"Do what you like," Clarke had finally said, her eyes flicking briefly to Echo.

Bellamy had been a little surprised because Clarke had always said she liked his glasses.

But... maybe it wasn't such a big deal after all. Echo was a producer, so maybe she knew what she was talking about. And besides, he'd been doing this long enough now to know he'd gotten the job based on his abilities, not his face.

The next day he'd popped in his contacts and had been wearing them at work ever since.

The makeup people arrived just then, before he could ask Clarke why she'd suddenly brought up his glasses after saying nothing about the subject for weeks. He thought he might get a chance to ask after work, but she wasn't interested in a late-night drink to wind down. It seemed like she rarely was these days, although that had been their usual pattern as weekend anchors.

Bellamy told himself she was just tired. That she was still getting used to doing two newscasts, five nights a week. That it had nothing to do with her... blowing him off.

But the truth was that he missed her. Even though they were sharing an anchor desk five nights a week instead of two, it felt to Bellamy like he was seeing less of Clarke than ever.

He'd known right from the start that taking on the nightly broadcast had meant they'd have to give up doing the feature pieces. He just hadn't understood how much he'd miss them. Miss spending all those hours alone with Clarke. No studio, no cameramen, no makeup or wardrobe or producers. Just the two of them, chasing some quirky story.

The freedom of it. Often even... the _intimacy_ of it.

And now, those days and those hours were just... gone.

Even their one-on-one briefings were no longer necessary. Now that they were the premiere anchors, the station had a current affairs expert who met with them once a week to keep them up to speed.

Clarke was still there, of course. Right beside him. Probing, listening, learning.

But somehow it just... wasn't the same.

It was when Clarke started pulling away socially, though, that Bellamy really started to worry that maybe he'd broken their friendship after all.

Now that they worked weeknights, their friend group had been great about shifting a lot of their activities to the weekends, although even then - lately - Clarke didn't always show. It was shortly after the day she'd brought up his glasses that Miller invited them to his place to meet his new boyfriend, and Bellamy was determined she wasn't flaking out this time.

"You have to come. Miller's new guy's a doctor," he told her with a smile. "He actually met him when he crashed his bike a couple months ago."

"A doctor! That doesn't sound like Miller at all." Her lips curved up in an answering smile. "Okay, maybe Miller's new boyfriend is not to be missed."

"I can pick you up," Bellamy offered quickly. He often drove her to social events because Clarke had never bothered buying a car.

But she was shaking her head before the words were out of his mouth.

"No, I, uh... I have to do some shopping in the afternoon. I'll just... I'll see you at Miller's place."

"Are you sure?" Bellamy would have been happy to pick her up from... wherever.

"Positive!" Her tone was so definite, so insistent, so almost... _harsh_, that he was momentarily taken aback. But she was gone before he could ask about it.

He got to Miller's place early that Saturday, determined to socialize, have fun, loosen up a little. And maybe get in a few extra hours of Clarke's company. But she never showed up until nearly ten, and by that time he was so wound up over his fear that she wouldn't come at all that when she finally _did_ arrive he couldn't seem to take his eyes off her.

Or maybe it was just how she looked that night, in those skinny jeans and that low-cut black top with her blonde waves cascading across her shoulders, that had rendered him not only speechless but unable to drag his eyes away.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Bellamy?" Miller said, sidling up and clapping him on the shoulder as he stood by the wall gripping his nearly-untouched beer.

"He's fucking pathetic is what's wrong with him." Murphy said, materializing suddenly on his other side. "He spends half the night with his eyes glued to the door, waiting for her, and now that she's here he can't take his eyes off her. But yet... he's still not _with_ her. Why the fuck is that, Bellamy?"

Bellamy sighed. Just what he needed.

"Will you two assholes butt the fuck out of my life! That's not how it is with Clarke and me. Or did you forget that we work together? And that she's my best friend?"

"And that is just the biggest load of bullshit I've ever heard..."

When Murphy refused to let it go, Bellamy moved himself across the room to talk to Harper, his favorite makeup artist, and her longtime boyfriend Monty. Neither of whom had anything to say about his personal life.

It was just after midnight when he glanced across the room and saw that Clarke was yawning. That had always been her body's signal that it was time to go.

Only moments later, he was at her side.

"I can take you home now if you want," he offered quickly.

"Bellamy! I've hardly seen you all night."

"I've been around," he said lightly, shrugging. "I guess we just, uh, haven't been in the sane conversation groups. But... I saw that you were tired, and I'm happy to give you a lift..."

"Oh, I don't want to put you out," she said immediately, not quite meeting his eyes. "Harper said they're leaving soon and she could give me a ride..."

_What the hell?_ It had been a while since she'd actually shown up at one of their party nights, but still. No matter how they arrived at a group social event, he _always_ took her home. By now, he knew damn well that most of the time that was the only reason he came at all.

"Why the fuck would you make Harper go downtown when she lives in Cambridge? Especially when your place only a mile from mine?" He didn't know why, but Bellamy was suddenly not only hurt but angry. "So now my best friend doesn't want me to give her a ride home anymore?"

Clarke's eyes darted to his face as she gave her head a quick shake.

"Of course not! I just... are you sure you want to leave now? I don't want to take you away if you'd rather stay..."

His nod was rigid. "I'm sure. Didn't you have a coat?"

"Yeah. I'll get it and say goodbye to Miller."

"You can give him my goodbyes, too. I'll meet you by the door."

The last thing Bellamy wanted was another encounter with Miller, especially with Clarke in tow. God only knew what the hell Miller might say.

By the time they left a few minutes later, rain had begun to fall, and as they drove along the dark wet streets, Clarke seemed to have little to say. Instead, she fiddled with the radio, and soon the wail of a jazz trombone was playing counterpoint to the gentle _thwack-thwack_ of the windshield wipers.

As much as he wanted to be in her company, Bellamy was grateful for her silence. He couldn't remember the last time they'd been alone together like this, and in the warm cocoon of his car, with the sound of the rain reverberating on the roof, and the soft plaintive melody pouring out of the radio, he was so overwhelmingly aware of his passenger that he found himself barely able to focus on driving, let alone carry on any kind of rational conversation.

When they reached Clarke's condo complex, he turned into the drive and pulled to a stop, waiting uncertainly.

He heard the soft clearing of her throat.

"Would you like to come in?" she asked after a moment, her voice quiet, tentative.

Bellamy drew in a quick, sharp breath, feeling his heart jump inside his chest. He grasped the steering wheel tightly, as if it were a tether that would somehow keep him from leaping out of the car and racing to follow Clarke inside.

Because... oh, god, he was _So. Fucking. Tempted._ There was nothing - nothing - he wanted more.

But he knew damn well that if he went into her place at that moment he wouldn't be coming out for hours. Or maybe even days.

He let out his breath slowly.

"I... don't think that would be a good idea," he said finally, nearly choking on the words as he forced them out.

Clarke nodded silently, as if that was exactly the answer she'd been expecting, and grabbed quickly for the door handle.

But she didn't open it, pausing instead to speak again. And her voice was no longer tentative.

"I've decided to go to the broadcasters convention in New York next weekend," she said briskly, not quite looking at him.

"What! _Why?"_ He was amazed that she'd even consider it. "_You're_ the one who always said it sounded like a complete waste of time."

She shrugged. "Yeah, well, I've decided to go this year, Bellamy. Indra invited me to stay with her for a.. a girls' weekend. She says she's got some things planned. I just... I wanted you to know because I'm going to ask Kane to get a sub for the late news on Friday so I can leave right after the six o'clock news."

Clarke flicked her eyes at him briefly then, before shifting around and finally unlatching the door.

"Why the hell are you really going, Clarke?" he couldn't stop himself from asking. "I don't get it."

He heard her sigh and watched as her shoulders stiffened.

"I just need a change, Bellamy." Her head was turned away from him as she looked out into the dark night. "I need to... shift the focus of my life just a little. And this seemed like a good place to start."

She pushed open the door then, before turning to give him a small smile.

"Thanks for the ride home," she said politely. "It's... good to know I can still count on you. No matter what."

"Always," he said after a few seconds, but by then the door was already closed and she was halfway across the lot.

XXXXXXXXXX

The first time Bellamy heard the name _Cillian Ryan_ was in a conversation he knew he shouldn't have been listening to.

Clarke had seemed more cheerful when she returned from her weekend in New York, but he'd put that down to a couple of days off and a change of scene. And then of course Indra was great company. He figured her sarcastic wit probably kept Clarke entertained the whole time.

Bellamy was happy for her. Glad that she'd been able to finally relax a bit.

But then the phone calls started.

Both of them had always treated phone calls at work in exactly the same way. By glancing briefly at the caller ID and then ignoring them. Bellamy did pick up when his sister called, though, so he was surprised to find that Clarke even ignored her mother's calls.

"If it's an emergency, she'll call again," she'd explained early in their acquaintance. "Otherwise, she knows I'll call her back when I can."

So when he found Clarke on the phone in the break room, Bellamy was more than a little surprised. Especially when she hung up as soon as she spotted him, with no more than a terse, "Sorry, gotta go."

At the time, he couldn't make any sense of it.

A few days later, her phone buzzed in the middle of a meeting with their current affairs advisor, and instead of turning it off, as Bellamy expected, she jumped up immediately and said, "Sorry, I have to get this," before running out of the room.

Bellamy was alarmed. Was her mother ill? If so, why hadn't she told him?

"Is everything okay back in Polis?" he asked, as soon as she returned.

"Of course," she said, looking at him blankly. "Why wouldn't it be?"

It wasn't until a week or so later that Bellamy accidentally learned the answer. And wished to god that he hadn't.

He'd been running late all day, always a step behind, and now it was nearly five-forty-five and he still hadn't been to makeup. He was rushing toward the makeup room when the sound of Clarke's voice brought him to a dead halt just outside the door.

Or maybe it wasn't so much her _voice_ as... her _words_.

"He wants to come to Boston," she was saying, her tone happy, excited. "He said it's been too many weeks since he's seen me. That phone calls aren't enough."

The next thing Bellamy heard was Harper's high-pitched squeal.

"Oh, my god, Clarke! Cillian Ryan is so hot. When I worked at WNYC, everyone had a thing for him. I can't believe you're seeing him!"

"I can't believe it either," Clarke said, and although Bellamy couldn't see her face, he could hear the smile in her voice. "I really thought it was just going to be, you know, a casual hook-up, a one-weekend thing, but he keeps calling, and... I really like him."

"Then you should tell him to come!"

"Maybe I will..." Clarke began, but then Bellamy was barging through door quite noisily, and she cut herself off.

Just like he'd expected.

"Sorry I'm so late," he apologized to Harper, struggling to keep his voice even and his demeanor casual. "I, uh, got hung up."

"No problem," she said affably. "It's not like you need much fixing up. Either of you," she added with a laugh.

Clarke slipped off her chair and headed toward the door with a quick wave.

"I'll see you on set, Bellamy."

"So, how _are_ you, Clarke?" he said deliberately, because he couldn't seem to help himself. "We haven't really talked much the last few days."

She stopped at the door with her hand on the knob and turned to look back at him. "I'm... good," she said evenly, without any special tone or inflection.

But it didn't matter.

Because Bellamy's mind wandered there anyway, to the exact place it shouldn't.

And he wondered just _how_ good she was. And just how good _he_ might be. This guy. This hookup that had turned into more. This Cillian Ryan that she liked well enough to want to keep seeing. Well enough to invite to Boston.

But Bellamy would get no answers that day. And when Clarke said nothing to him for several more days, and then for weeks, he began to think that maybe he'd got it wrong after all. Maybe he'd... misunderstood.

At work, she was exactly the same as always. Perhaps her smile was a little brighter and her step a little bouncier, but there could be loads of explanations for that. And maybe she did seem busy on the weekends, but then she'd hardly been making it to the parties or game nights or movie marathons for months now anyway.

Because surely - if she were seeing someone, if there'd been such an enormous change in her life - _surely_ she'd tell Bellamy. Her partner. Her best friend.

_Surely_ he wouldn't be the last to know. Would he?

And that was the slim thread he held onto until the Thursday night she caught up with him in the break room after everyone else had left.

"Oh, good, you're still here," she said.

"Is something wrong, Clarke?"

She shook her head. "No, not at all. I just... I wanted to tell you, Bellamy that..." and her chin lifted just fractionally, "...I'm seeing someone. Someone I met at the convention."

And even though deep down he had known - _known he hadn't been wrong_ \- hearing her actually say the words was still a punch to the gut that left him nearly breathless.

Bellamy turned away quickly, grabbing his water bottle, downing a large gulp.

Playing for time.

"The convention was weeks ago," he finally said, fiddling with the bottle cap so she wouldn't notice his hands were trembling. He fought hard for control, determined that nothing in his voice would give away his inner turmoil. "Why are you just telling me this now?"

Clarke shrugged. "I... wasn't sure what you'd think. But now, Cillian's coming for a long weekend. So he's going to be around tomorrow. He wants to watch me working."

"Cillian?" he said with a questioning tone, just like he didn't know exactly who this guy was, hadn't spent hours googling him, reading his extensive resume, staring at his picture.

"Cillian Ryan," she said. "He's the weeknight anchor at WNYC. Indra introduced us."

"Ah," he said. "He sounds impressive. I... look forward to meeting him."

Clarke stared at him for a moment.

"And that's all you have to say?"

Bellamy shrugged. "What should I say? You met a guy you like and now you're seeing him. Uh... good for you."

He knew he must be crazy because for the _tiniest second_ Bellamy thought he saw what looked very much like a flash of disappointment. But that was... impossible. She was probably just surprised he hadn't made some kind of wisecrack.

But at that moment, humor was the furthest thing from Bellamy's mind.

"So... we're okay then?" she asked, her voice tentative.

"Of course," he said, as robustly as he could manage. "We're always okay."

"Thank god," she said with a happy, relieved smile. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Then she was out the door, calling back to remind him to get the lights.

Bellamy did flick off the lights but that was all he could manage before his knees gave out and he sat heavily on the dilapidated couch that had been there for years. The same one they'd planned their very first featurette on.

Back when he hardly knew her. Back when he had no idea how much she'd come to mean to him.

Back when he thought he could completely control his heart.

_Fuck, he was an idiot._


	6. Chapter 6

Bellamy had been both surprised and irritated when only a couple of weeks after her arrival at the station Echo Winters had button-holed him in the break room to nose into his personal life. Not that he hadn't learned early on that producers were an aggressive bunch, but this one seemed to take it to a whole new level.

"So... you and Clarke? Are you a thing?"

The question was tossed seemingly out of the blue as she casually poured herself a cup of coffee.

She may have waited until they were alone, but Bellamy still wasn't having it. He let the question lay for several beats to drive home the point that it was both intrusive and unwelcome, before finally responding repressively.

"A thing?"

Echo snorted. "Come on, Bellamy, don't try to be coy. It really doesn't seem like your style. You know exactly what I'm asking."

His lips thinned into a frown. "You're pretty fucking direct, Echo. I'll give you that."

"Maybe, but I'm still waiting for a direct answer."

Bellamy was astounded by her persistence in the face of his obvious annoyance. He might have had to put up with the occasional ribbing from his friends, but no one else at the station except Marcus Kane had ever come right out and asked him about Clarke.

No one except this ballsy woman he barely knew.

"You don't think that maybe my private life is none of your business?"

"I wasn't sure you _had_ a private life. That's why I'm asking."

"And you need to know this because...?" His displeasure was growing.

She shrugged. "I want to know what I'm dealing with. I have to work with the two of you every day and I can't do that effectively if there are... things I don't know about. But obviously, since you don't want to talk about it, there is something..."

Bellamy sighed, told himself it was easier to just answer than to keep circling around it. Then maybe this uncomfortable conversation could come to an end.

"We aren't," he said.

"Aren't?"

"A thing. Clarke and I aren't a _thing_. Not the way you mean. We've known each other for years, came up together here at the station, and we're... best friends. Partners, too, of course. But it's... nothing more."

He paused. "Satisfied?"

_God knew he hoped so._

Echo's brows rose in surprise, as though it wasn't the answer she'd been expecting at all.

"Really?" She frowned. "Not even... exes?"

He shook his head, right on the edge of getting a little aggressive himself if she didn't back the hell off.

"No," he said, his voice tight.

"Okay," she said finally. "If you say so."

With that, Echo's demeanor suddenly changed, and she lowered herself to the arm of the couch, perching next to Bellamy and quietly sipping her coffee. As she studied him over the rim of her mug, her gaze became less inquisitive and more... playful.

She smiled at him.

"In that case, unless there's someone else I haven't heard about, maybe you and I could grab a drink sometime. Or even... dinner."

Bellamy felt his mouth go slack. Somehow - stupidly, he now realized - he hadn't expected that at all. He stared at her for moment, wondering how to phrase his response, finally opting for being just as blunt as she'd been.

"I don't date people I work with. It can cause... problems."

Echo smirked, cradling her mug in her hands.

"Who said anything about dating? A drink or a meal can sometimes lead to... other enjoyable activities if both parties are so inclined. But it doesn't have to. And even if it did, it doesn't have to be some big deal. Something with a label. It can just be... mutually pleasurable. In the moment."

Bellamy eyed her carefully. _What the hell was she offering him?_

"Is this some kind of... I don't know... bizarre attempt to gain my good opinion of you as a producer? Because it's not necessary, Echo. I've been very happy with your work so far. We both have," he added deliberately.

Echo bristled immediately, plainly angered by his response. "What the fuck is wrong with you? I'd never do that! It's not like I work _for_ you, Bellamy. We both work for the station."

Her face screwed up in indignation.

"Do you ever actually look in the mirror, Blake? I don't think you do. Otherwise you'd figure out this is just me maybe trying to have some fun with a guy I think is hot. That's it! But I really didn't expect anyone who looks like... I mean..."

She stopped, sighed again, shook her head in disbelief.

"Jesus, Bellamy, you really have a stick up your ass. Do you never do... _casual_?"

Embarrassment coursed through Bellamy as it came to him suddenly that maybe he'd both misunderstood and overreacted. He began to feel like an ass.

"Echo," he said quickly, rubbing his hand across his face. "Look. I appreciate the... offer of," he shook his head, "whatever, uh, casual thing you were offering, but my answer is still the same. We work together every day and it... just doesn't seem like a good idea."

"And that's really the reason? There's nothing else?"

"What else would there be? You're a very attractive woman, and I'm, um, flattered."

"Damn straight," she said, smirking, shrugging her shoulder. "Your loss."

"I'm... sure it is." He sighed. "Look... are we good? Because I do think you're a good producer and I don't want things to be awkward between us. Sorry if I, uh, misinterpreted."

Echo laughed shortly. "Don't worry about it, Bellamy. We're good. But don't be surprised if I ask you again some time. You may change your mind about the whole work thing."

Bellamy couldn't help smiling at her cheek. "I doubt it," he said.

And she did ask again, every few weeks over the next several months. It eventually became a kind of game between them. One he was pretty damn sure Clarke was unaware of.

Echo asked... and Bellamy always turned her down.

Until he didn't.

XXXXXXXXXX

The first time Bellamy met Cillian Ryan, he barely had 24 hours to absorb Clarke's news that she was seeing someone before the guy showed up at the station.

Turned out that while Bellamy had never heard of him, Cillian was pretty well-known in broadcast news circles, and Kane was eager to roll out the red carpet for his visit. But all Bellamy could think about was getting through the day without making a fool of himself.

He barely managed it.

He timed his arrival for the six o'clock news that Friday with barely a minute to spare, but Clarke still insisted on making a quick introduction. If, despite the knot in his stomach and the ache in his heart, Bellamy somehow managed a pleasant smile, he knew it was only because he'd been practicing that smile all day.

Things just went downhill from there.

For the first time in memory, he found himself unable to properly focus while on the air. Instead he was distracted, all too aware that the man Clarke was seeing, the man she was now sleeping with, was watching them from the control booth.

The irony was that Clarke herself appeared totally unbothered by her lover's presence.

"Cillian and I are going for drinks and dinner at _Yvette's_, Bellamy." Clarke had turned to him as soon as they were off the air. "Kane's joining us, and Harper, and a few of the others. I'd really like it if you could..."

"That sounds great, Clarke," he interrupted quickly, barely allowing the invitation to be issued. "But I, uh, I feel like I have a cold coming on. Gonna maybe just order in a salad and take a nap."

He knew it was a stupid excuse, knew by Clarke's baffled expression that she wasn't buying it anyway, but it was the first thing that had popped into his head and the words tumbled out before he could stop them.

"Maybe next time," he told her, hoping fervently that the smile he was giving her wasn't actually a grimace. And that despite his comment there wouldn't _be_ a next time.

By the end of the 11 o'clock news, Bellamy was wound as tight as an 8-day clock, and he went home with a throbbing head and a sour stomach. But he consoled himself with the knowledge that Cillian lived more than 200 miles away, had his own demanding job, and his visits probably wouldn't be frequent.

But then Clarke didn't show up for their monthly game night the following Saturday, and Harper just shrugged and told him, "She caught an early shuttle."

And as though it were somehow a revelation, Bellamy suddenly recalled the very convenient air service between two of the biggest cities in the northeast. That was immediately followed by the disquieting thought that for the first time in years Clarke had gotten on a plane and never told him a thing about it.

He was relieved to learn a couple of weeks later that at least they weren't seeing each other every weekend when he heard Clarke tell Harper she'd be coming to her and Monty's engagement party alone.

_And then spent an entire day trying to decide if he should offer her a lift._

It was stupid! Bellamy knew that and he _hated_ it. Hated that this new relationship of Clarke's was making him second-guess his every interaction with her, when things between them used to be so damned easy.

A few months earlier there'd have been no question that of _course_ he'd pick her up. But no matter how he tried to convince himself otherwise, things just weren't quite the same.

He knew he couldn't lay the blame for that at Clarke's door because at work she'd been... just the same as always. Just as easy to work with and relate to as ever.

It was _Bellamy_ who couldn't seem to get past the fact that she had someone in her life now. Someone who was allowed to be with her in a way that he himself was not. Even though he knew that had been _his own choice, _he still hadn't been able to stop himself from being a little cool, and a little distant.

_A little bit of a selfish asshole._

Wasn't he supposed to be her _best friend_? Someone who wanted her to be _happy_? The first one in line to help out with whatever she needed. And hadn't everything he'd done - and everything he _hadn't_ done - been to keep their friendship close and unbroken.

So why the hell was he pulling away now?

Bellamy heaved a sigh at his own idiocy.

By the time she took the seat next to him there were barely thirty seconds until airtime, so he knew he'd have to make it quick.

"I'll come by and pick you up for the engagement party on Saturday, okay?"

Clark's face lit with surprise... and with something else he thought looked a lot like relief.

"Are you sure? I don't want to put you out."

He huffed a laugh. "Don't be stupid! I'll always..."

In his ear he heard "_Bellamy, in 3,2,1..."_

Still, Clarke managed a small smile and a quick nod, and when he said "Good evening, I'm Bellamy Blake," his heart felt lighter than it had in weeks.

By the time he dropped her back at her place after the party that Saturday, Bellamy was beginning to feel like things might really get back to normal soon. They'd had a great time, laughing and joking just like always, and he was more certain than ever that he and Clarke had exactly the right relationship. The one that would endure.

"Thanks for the ride, Bellamy." Her smile was soft as she opened the car door.

"Any time." He returned her smile with a cheeky salute. "After all, what are friends for?"

As she had on that rainy night all those months ago, Clarke paused then with her hand on the door latch and looked up at him.

"Bellamy?" Her face was open as she studied him.

"Yeah?" Suddenly, his mouth was dry and his heart began to pound.

Then she shook herself, and sighed, her face shuttering.

"Nothing, just... I hope you know I appreciate you."

"I do know," he said, feeling a sharp unwelcome pang of disappointment.

He could hear the rasp in his voice when he wished her goodnight a moment later.

Bellamy thought about that moment over and over as he lay in his bed that night, hot and aching. Cillian Ryan was just a flash-in-the-pan, he told himself. Something new and different. He certainly wouldn't be around forever. Hell, maybe there was trouble in paradise already. After all, the guy hadn't made it to the engagement party.

He began the next work week more buoyed in spirits than he'd been in months.

That feeling lasted all the way until Thursday afternoon when he came upon Clarke in the break room booking a ticket for a Saturday shuttle to New York.

"I guess you're not going to make movie night at Miller's," he said. He could hear the tight disappointment in his voice, as much as he tried to hide it.

"Uh, there's some important dinner Cillian wants me to come to," she began quickly, closing her laptop with a snap.

"No need to explain to me," Bellamy said with a curt nod. "It's your life."

Clarke lifted her chin and her eyes flashed. "You're right," she said testily, "it is my life."

When she left without another word, his spirits plummeted.

_Why the hell did I have to go and make things worse?_

Suddenly, he felt like shit.

But that was _nothing_ to how he felt a couple of weeks later when he entered the lobby late one Friday afternoon to find that Cillian Ryan was visiting again.

The man leaped to his feet as soon as he saw Bellamy.

"Bellamy! Great timing. We never got much chance to talk the last time I was here. Maybe we can make up for it this time."

"Uh," Bellamy was thinking furiously, but he was fucking _unprepared_. Why the hell hadn't she told him?

But he knew why. They didn't talk about Cillian. In fact, for the last couple of weeks they'd barely spoken at all.

"I'm running a little late," he said hastily. "And I've got a few errands to do between newscasts, so maybe, uh, some other time..."

"Sure," Cillian said with a puzzled smile. "Maybe after the late news, you can join us for drinks."

But Bellamy was off with a wave, already halfway to the elevators and heading straight for his office.

Which is where Echo found him hiding out a half hour later.

"So is this the day?" she asked, opening the door to pop her head in.

"The day?" he asked vaguely, his mind still focused on his encounter with Cillian Ryan. He couldn't seem to make his way out of the fucking _black_ _hole_ that had engulfed him as soon as he'd seen the man in the lobby.

"Yeah," she said, smirking. "The day you actually give in and say yes to a drink or two after the late news. With me, I mean."

Bellamy's head snapped up as her words finally penetrated. Tonight, none of his customary mental pep talks had made any headway in getting rid of his foul mood. Maybe what he needed instead was a little distraction.

The smile he sent Echo's way was a little more sardonic than usual.

"What if I was told you that this _was_ the day? Assuming you're still okay with just a couple of very casual drinks."

Echo's face reflected first her astonishment... and then her delight.

"I'm okay with casual _anything_," she said archly, returning his smile with a sultry one of her own. "Should I meet you in the lobby after the late news?"

He shook his head. "I think we should be a little more discreet. You name the place and I'll meet you there."

"I'll text you," she said, and was off with a wink before he could change his mind.

XXXXXXXXXX

He made himself scarce between the broadcasts, and then took off quickly as soon as the late news ended, telling Clarke that he was "meeting someone for drinks."

He saw the surprise on her face, and was glad he hadn't had to lie. Because Clarke knew him through and through, and Bellamy had always been a piss-poor liar.

Let her think what she wanted. As long as it got him out of a date with her and her boyfriend.

The bar Echo had chosen wasn't actually a bar at all, but the elegant lounge of an upscale hotel that stayed open until the wee hours. It was apparently very popular with the late-night crowd, people like himself and Echo whose workday didn't conform to the norm and who were often ready to start their evening's entertainment just as everyone else was hitting the sack.

She was seated at the bar when he arrived, and the first thing Bellamy noticed was that she'd changed her blouse to one that was a lot less work-friendly... and a lot more revealing.

He sighed inwardly as he made his way across the room. It was no secret that she was angling for something more than drinks, but he told himself that that wasn't what this was about. That she was still his producer, still someone he worked with every day. And that he just needed a little company.

"Why don't we grab a table," he suggested as soon as he reached her, signaling to the barman that he'd have two of whatever she was drinking.

Echo glanced up at him, slid off the stool, and grabbed onto his arm.

"Whatever you like," she said, her smile the same sultry one she'd worn earlier in his office.

"You look nice," he told her as soon as they were seated, because it seemed like the polite thing to say. And because it was true. There was no shortage of allure about Echo Winters, and he wondered fleetingly why she didn't already have a boyfriend.

Then again, she'd already said she was more into casual with that kind of thing.

"Thanks," she said, acknowledging the compliment. "You, too. But then, you already knew that," she added, smirking.

Bellamy laughed at her cheekiness. She was certainly entertaining, if nothing else.

"So why did you suddenly change your mind?" she finally asked, after a meandering conversation of the sort acquaintances always had when they were working towards possibly becoming friends.

He shrugged. "Does there have to be a reason?"

Echo looked amused. "I suppose not, but... there usually is. But you know what," she said, finishing off her drink as he signaled for two more, "it doesn't really matter."

"So you and Clarke," she asked suddenly, when the barman put down their two fresh drinks, "I heard you come from the same town."

Bellamy felt himself tense as soon as Clarke's name was mentioned.

"Not exactly," he said, his tone brusque. "But I don't want to talk about Clarke. Or work, for that matter. I'm sure there are better topics of conversation."

Echo shrugged. "I don't really care what we talk about," she said, reaching across the table to rub her thumb across the palm of his hand. "In fact, I don't care if we talk at all."

Bellamy eyed her hand on his, and took another sip of his drink, noting suddenly that although he was only one-and-a-half drinks in he was already beginning to feel a little tipsy. Not that he he'd ever been much of a drinker, but this seemed... excessive.

"What the hell is in this thing we're drinking, Echo," he asked, frowning.

She smirked. "It's called a Long Island Iced Tea."

"Tea? I don't think..."

"Yeah, _no,_ Bellamy. There's no tea in that drink. But there is a lot of other shit." She shook her head, laughing. "I suppose I should have figured you weren't a big drinker."

His smile was rueful. "I'm thinking I should probably _stop_ drinking, and maybe just head out."

"Good idea. Why don't we both head out? We could go to your place. I heard it's downtown somewhere."

"No," he said, his tone sharper than maybe he'd intended. "I don't... bring people home with me."

"Okay," she nodded, shrugging. "My place then. I'm sure it's a little further out, and a lot smaller, but it has... everything we need."

"Echo..." Bellamy frowned. "I thought we agreed that this was just going be drinks. I'm not interested in starting up any kind of relationship. I was... pretty sure you understood that."

"That's fine with me. In fact, it's perfect. I like to keep everything in my life very casual."

Bellamy sighed. There was no question at all that Echo Winters was an attractive woman. And then there was the _tea_, or whatever the hell it was that had definitely gone a little to his head, and the way her soft fingers were busily rubbing circles across the palms of his hands.

Or maybe it was just that he couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten laid.

But whatever the reason, Bellamy could feel his body becoming aroused, could feel himself becoming very receptive to exactly what it was that Echo was so blatantly offering.

"Why don't we get a cab," she finally said, her voice soft and low, "and you can decide on the way."

Ten minutes later, he'd paid the bill, and they were ensconced in a yellow cab on their way to Echo's apartment.

Eleven minutes later, she was kissing him, and he was very enthusiastically kissing her back.

It wasn't a grand passion, but it felt good, and it had been a long time since Bellamy had allowed himself to just feel good.

Forty-five minutes later, when he slid inside her welcoming body, that wasn't a grand passion either, but it was pleasurable, and uncomplicated, and it didn't require that he put his heart on the line.

And when he got up to leave a half hour after _that_, Echo simply smiled up at him and said, "See you Monday."

Within weeks, it had become a semi-regular thing. Usually Echo suggested _drinks_, and although they always had those drinks, and sometimes even a meal, it was really just a code word for what came afterwards. Occasionally, it was even Bellamy who made the suggestion.

He wasn't sure if it was a good thing he was doing, but there was no doubt that his body was happy about it.

Several weeks later, Kane came bursting onto the set to let Clarke and Bellamy know that after several years at second-place, WBOS was now the ratings winner for both the six and eleven o'clock news. Both Jaha and the network were delighted.

He and Clarke hugged ecstatically for several joyful moments before pulling apart abruptly, as though they'd just remembered something very important.

When Clarke grabbed her phone to tell Cillian the good news, Bellamy recalled what that important thing was. Later, when they were alone in his office, Echo congratulated him with a quick kiss and told him they should definitely celebrate with _drinks_ that night.

After she left, Bellamy sat heavily in his chair and surveyed his life.

He had a job he loved, and one that he shared with a partner he adored. His best friend.

In fact, they were so good at their job that they were beating the competition handily, which had pleased his employers no end.

And on top of all _that_, he was getting laid on the regular.

He sighed.

He couldn't remember a time when he'd been so unhappy.


	7. Chapter 7

When Bellamy heard about their ratings coup, he was sure it was a shining career moment that couldn't possibly be topped. So a few weeks later when the Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin anchor team was actually nominated for a local news Emmy Award, it felt like the icing on a very tall cake.

That he and Clarke had had that much success at only 34 and 29 seemed to Bellamy to be... inconceivable.

The station management was ecstatic, of course, and they were even more excited when they learned that some of the bigwigs from the network news division had decided to come to Boston to meet their rising young stars.

"Thelonious wants you to do a round of the station's talk shows while the network brass are visiting," Kane told them, beaming, when he called them into his office to give them the news. "He explained about your fantastic teamwork, and the network guys want to use that, and your Emmy nomination, to talk up your newscast on our other shows. Now that we're finally on top of the ratings, they want to keep it that way."

Kane's smile morphed into a tiny smirk. "And I think he figured putting your pretty faces onscreen couldn't hurt either."

Bellamy groaned, resigning himself to being used that way, while Clarke just rolled her eyes.

"Well, if they want us to do Zoe's 9am show," she said, frowning, "it better be on a Monday. I'm not getting up at the crack of dawn after working the 11pm newscast."

"I'm sure that'll be fine," Kane said with a shrug. "Set the schedule up with the hosts any way you like as long as it's the week the network's here."

Bellamy had never imagined they might one day end up being the guests on their own station's talk shows, and it definitely felt a little weird. Still, a couple of Mondays later they were breakfasting with Zoe Monroe (Bellamy had always wondered how someone that intense ended up with a morning gig), and later in the week they even managed to muddle their way through a few recipes on Jasper Jordan's noontime show, "If I Can Cook, Anyone Can."

But the appearance he minded least was with Raven Reyes on her freewheeling late afternoon talk show, because Raven was a close friend. Although the timing for that one was a little tricky since her show ended just as their early evening newscast began.

But Raven had been insistent.

"What the hell! If you think you're making the rounds and skipping me, you're full of shit," she declared in her trademark _take no prisoners_ style.

Which is why Friday afternoon found them sitting on a comfortable sofa in front of a studio audience and "Rapping With Raven."

"So Clarke, Bellamy," Raven asked as soon as the introductions and Emmy mentions were over with, "how did you two get started working together on those featurettes you used to do? We've all missed them a lot since you became the weeknight anchors."

Bellamy was sure that Raven already knew the answer to that. She hadn't been at the station at the time, but the backstory about their first featurette seemed to make the rounds every single time a new person joined the staff. It was the anecdote that wouldn't die.

He opened his mouth to remind her of that but Clarke spoke up first.

"What happened," she said with a sudden gleam in her eye, "was that Bellamy was kind of a wimp. And... a little bit of a jerk. He just wouldn't stop complaining about having to report on the bad weather."

"Oh, is that right?" he said, turning to her with a grin. "That's not how I remember it at all. I seem to recall that _Clarke_ was too proud and too stubborn to admit she didn't know how to dress for New England snowstorms..."

"You know what?" Raven jumped in, smiling broadly. "We don't really need to have this debate because we've dug up the very first Blake/Griffin featurette and we're going to show it to our viewers right now. You folks in the audience just watch the monitors."

And suddenly, there they were. Six-years-younger Clarke in her ratty sweats and Bellamy in his snow shoes and "toboggan pants." The studio audience was soon howling, and when Bellamy glanced at Clarke he saw that she was grinning from ear to ear. He smiled, too, remembering that sudden flash of inspiration that had begun their partnership.

"But that was only the beginning," Raven said when the snowstorm spot ended. "Here's a compilation we've put together of some of the best moments from "All in a Day's Work with Bellamy and Clarke."

The pictures began to flash onscreen, a history of his successful partnership with Clarke. One he hoped would last for a long time to come. As he watched, Bellamy found he had a hard time recalling the details of some of the stories.

But others were unforgettable.

His breath caught at the sudden image of Clarke in period dress looking into the camera as the sun set behind Nubble Light. His eyes left the screen and darted to the woman beside him, who returned his look for a brief moment before turning quickly away. But the expression he'd surprised on her face had been so soft, so almost... intimate, that his mouth went suddenly dry.

After that, while Clarke continued to watch the images flicker across the screen, Bellamy watched _her_ instead, catching his breath at the array of emotions that chased each other across her face.

"Well, that's it," Raven said suddenly, breaking the spell, while the audience applauded wildly. "When we come back from the break we'll find out what Bellamy and Clarke have been up to these days. So stay tuned to hear all about their recent success."

Bellamy blinked, taking an instant to recall exactly where he was. Then Clarke turned smile at him, and his heart began to beat rapidly at the open affection in her face.

After that week, Clarke seemed almost like her old self again and for some reason things felt more "normal" between them than they had in months. She was free for movie night that weekend, and when she showed up for game night the following Saturday for the first time in months, Bellamy began to think that maybe her liaison with Cillian Ryan had finally run its course.

For the first time in a long time he began to look forward to the weekends.

And then she didn't turn up for Miller's beer-tasting gig.

"You know how much Clarke hates beer," Harper said vaguely, catching his eye as he surreptitiously glanced around Miller's living room.

"Yeah, or maybe it was that shuttle ticket she was buying online yesterday," Murphy added as Harper elbowed him in the ribs.

"What?" Murphy rubbed his side, offended. "Should he not know this? It's his own damn fault anyway."

Bellamy suddenly lost interest in the beer, tasting bitter disappointment instead. And it was all the worse because it was so unexpected. No one said anything when he left an hour later - not even Murphy.

He convinced himself it had been hard for him to manage his disappointment only because he hadn't known in advance that she wouldn't be there. But the fact was that while he knew all sorts of mundane details about Clarke's life - who her dentist was, what colors she was thinking of painting her kitchen - they never, by mutual unspoken agreement, shared details about their dating life.

So if he wanted to know, he'd have to ask, and Bellamy had worked hard to appear indifferent to her private life, intent on not giving himself away. So far, he'd mostly been successful.

The week after Miller's party he lasted only until Friday afternoon.

XXXXXXXXXX

"So... doing anything special this weekend?"

Damn! What the hell was _wrong_ with him?

Bellamy had promised himself he wouldn't ask Clarke that question. But then she'd smiled at him in the mirror as they sat for makeup and it had just... popped out.

She eyed him quizzically. "Why do you ask?"

He shrugged, scratching around to come up with a reasonable response.

"Just wondered if, uh, that new guy was going to be in town."

Clarke's brow wrinkled in confusion. "Cillian isn't exactly new, Bellamy. I've been seeing him for almost a year."

"That long?" he said lightly, trying desperately to sound surprised.

Like he hadn't known exactly how long they'd been dating. Or that learning about the new guy hadn't come as a totally unexpected punch to the gut 10 months and 16 days earlier.

Like he hadn't been trying to figure out what the hell to do about it ever since.

Bellamy was saved from explaining himself when Echo suddenly stuck her head in the door.

"Bellamy, Clarke, five minutes," she said quickly before hurrying off.

Clarke's lips twisted in a wry smile.

"Doesn't she have both an assistant and an intern to run around with those kinds of reminders?"

Bellamy shrugged again, happy for the change of subject.

"Echo just likes to stay on top of things."

He would almost swear he heard Clarke mutter under her breath... _I'll just bet she does_... but then the warning lights flashed and soon they were hurrying along the corridor and onto the set.

As they took their customary seats, Bellamy couldn't stop himself from glancing over at Clarke, from giving her a smile. And he certainly couldn't stop the hot rush of feelings that coursed through him when her lips curved up softly and her eyes smiled back at him.

"Ten seconds, everyone," the director called from the booth and Bellamy forced himself to clear his mind of everything else and just focus on his job.

"And we are... on the air," he heard through his earpiece.

"Good evening, I'm Bellamy Blake..."

"... and I'm Clarke Griffin. Welcome to the WBOS evening news."

XXXXXXXXXX

"So, um, you asked me about Cillian, Bellamy," Clarke said hurriedly as soon as they were off the air, her hands fluttering a little nervously. "He actually is coming this weekend. In fact, he'll be here soon. He's had some really exciting news and I think he wants to talk to Marcus about it. So he's combining that with a visit..."

But Bellamy didn't really want to hear any more, recalling just a little too late that it was never a good idea to ask a question to which you might not like the answer.

"That's great, Clarke," he interrupted quickly, pulling his lips into what he hoped would pass for a smile. "I was just, uh, making conversation. I don't need all the details. Have a nice weekend."

He'd barely made it through those few sentences before he was headed off the set and up two flights to hole up in his office.

When Echo stopped by a while later with notes on the newscast, Bellamy tried hard to give her his complete attention. But he thought she may have somehow caught on to his distress anyway, because after a few minutes she interrupted herself to change the subject to one of a much more personal nature.

"Hey, is this maybe a good night for drinks?"

"What?"

Echo's mouth twisted into a wry smile. "You know, Bellamy, drinks. Me and you. After the late newscast. Whaddya think? I mean... it's been a while."

She was right. It had been a while, although she'd mentioned it casually more than once. But lately, he just hadn't been interested. Tonight was an altogether different story.

"Okay," he nodded, giving her a small smile. "I think I could use some friendly company. Why don't we meet at the hotel lounge?"

Echo grinned and nodded. "Okay, great. I'll see you there."

Somehow he got through the evening, and the late newscast, without ever engaging Clarke in conversation. He supposed she might have been off somewhere with Cillian between the newscasts, because he hadn't seen the man at the station, but Bellamy really preferred not to dwell on that.

By the time he reached his office, he was wondering if meeting up with Echo was really such a good idea after all. He told himself, not for the first time, that maybe he should be rethinking that whole association.

But not tonight. Tonight it felt like he needed the exact kind of distraction she was offering.

He pulled off his tie and folded it carefully into his desk drawer. He'd accidentally left at least one tie at Echo's apartment, and he knew he wouldn't want to lose track of this one, a long-ago gift from Clarke. Then he was out the door, hurrying now as he suddenly realized he was later than usual.

Bellamy finally made it to the lounge 15 minutes later, expecting to find Echo waiting for him at the bar, as usual. When he didn't see her, he thought that for once he'd gotten there first. But as he scanned the room for a vacant table on this busy Friday night he saw that Echo was there after all, seated at a table for four near the back of the room.

And she wasn't alone.

Sitting with her was a very animated Cillian Ryan, smiling, waving his lands around, and talking a blue streak.

Next to Cillian was Clarke Griffin. Not animated, not talking, and definitely not smiling. Not, in fact, doing much of anything at all.

As fate would have it, that was the exact moment that Clarke chose to lift her head and turn it slightly, and suddenly she was looking him straight in the eye. Her normally expressive face was so blank it seemed like she was barely breathing.

Bellamy felt his insides plummet.

Before he could even begin to recover, Echo spotted him, too, and waved him over.

"Look who came in while I was waiting," she said, smiling, as he approached the table.

Cillian stood up and offered his hand, which Bellamy shook as though he was on auto-pilot.

"I hope you don't mind," the other man said, smiling broadly. "When Echo told us she was waiting for you, I thought you and I might actually get a chance to talk."

There was little Bellamy could do but take the fourth seat at the table. He risked a sideways glance at Clarke, his eyes darting quickly in her direction, but she seemed to be very deliberately not looking at him.

"Cillian has some really exciting news, Bellamy," Echo said, distracting him for a moment from his worrisome thoughts about what might be going on inside Clarke's head.

"Oh?" Bellamy hoped he sounded at least mildly interested. "And what's that?" he asked, cocking his head at the man across the table.

Cillian's smile widened. "I've been offered a job by the network. Not on the anchor desk, of course. That'd be a few years down the road. Just on general assignment, to... wherever they need me to go. But it's a great opportunity. I wanted to talk to Marcus Kane about it because he used to work at the network before he came here as news director."

"Well, uh, congratulations," Bellamy said, but his mind wasn't on Cillian's new job or Kane's former life with the network. Instead, he wondered how Clarke was feeling about the sudden change in her boyfriend's lifestyle. Was she upset? Or did that stony stare mean something else altogether?

"I've been pumping Cillian about the best way to get a network job," Echo said brightly, clearly totally unconcerned about Clarke's odd silence, as well as wholly unaware of Bellamy's inner turmoil.

"I'm trying to give Echo some pointers," Cillian continued their conversation with a friendly smile, "but I think maybe the best I can do is put you in touch with some of the segment producers once I start the new job."

"Yeah? That'd be great, Cillian," Echo enthused. "That's where I really want to be... right in the thick of the action."

Bellamy nodded. He knew about Echo's ambitions and wished her luck, but right now he had other concerns.

"So... this was the news you were mentioning earlier, Clarke?" he said, turning to her fully.

"Yes," she said shortly, speaking for the first time since he'd arrived.

"Clarke must be a little tired, I think," Cillian said with a puzzled frown when she failed to elaborate. "She was pretty enthusiastic about my new job earlier, and even suggested we come out for drinks to celebrate. But when we got here, I guess that's when the fatigue set in. I know how it can sometimes hit like that after the late newscast."

"Do you want to leave?" he asked Clarke, his expression bewildered but concerned.

For a moment she didn't answer, but then she blinked rapidly and seemed to come to life.

"I don't want to cut your evening short, Cillian. Why don't you stay for a while and have another drink? Finish your conversation with... Echo. I can get a cab right outside."

"Don't be silly, Clarke, it's after midnight. Of course I'll take you if you want to go..."

"No!" Clarke was insistent, rising suddenly and grabbing her coat and purse. "I'm a big girl. I can get my own cab. I'll... see you later."

She gave a quick general nod and then turned towards the door, weaving deftly around the tables to reach the exit.

Cillian's mouth dropped open in surprise.

"I've... never seen her like this," he said, beginning to rise himself, "but maybe I'd better go after..."

Bellamy was up like a shot.

"Why don't you let me go and make sure Clarke finds a taxi? I'm sure she'll be fine. Like you said, she's probably just tired. Uh, Echo, maybe you could order me one of those tea things."

And before either of them had time to respond, he'd left the table and was hurriedly following Clarke out of the bar.

He caught up with her just as she made in through the entrance and onto the quiet empty sidewalk.

"Clarke!"

Startled, she jerked her head toward his voice but didn't stop.

"If I didn't need Cillian's help then I _certainly_ don't need yours," she threw at him over her shoulder.

"What the hell does _that_ mean?" he called after her.

Clarke halted then, wheeling to face him, and she was unmistakably upset.

"It means..." She paused, heaved a breath and changed her tack. "I just want to know one thing, Bellamy. I want to know what happened to your rule."

"Rule? What rule?"

"The one about not dating co-workers. Or was that just for me? Maybe there are other rules for tall, sexy brunettes."

"You think that's all you are to me, Clarke? Some random co-worker?" She couldn't _possibly_ believe that.

"I don't know what the hell I am to you."

"Yes, you do! You're my best friend in the world," he said firmly. "The one person I want to make sure stays in my life forever." Bellamy clenched his jaw. "And anyway, Echo and I... aren't dating."

Clarke studied his face in the dim glow of the hotel's perimeter lighting.

"So... you're telling me you _aren't_ sleeping with Echo," she said directly, her chin lifting in determination.

He paused, desperate to be able to spin his response, but knowing that she meant far too much to him her to give her anything but the unvarnished truth.

"No," he said quietly, "I'm not telling you that."

Clarke's face tightened, and he thought he saw a flash of hurt in her eyes but if so she ruthlessly suppressed it.

"So since you're not dating," she said, biting out every word, "that means you're just _fucking_."

Bellamy heaved a sigh. "Clarke..."

"My god, Bellamy! I knew she was into you. Everybody knew it! But for you to take advantage of her like that..."

Bellamy felt the first stirrings of anger.

"What the hell, Clark? It was her idea. She's the one who was just looking for casual. And, fuck! She came on to me for months before I finally agreed!"

"So you don't give a damn about her, then."

He could read the judgment in her face.

"I didn't say that! She's a friend. I like her. But that's... all it is."

"Except for the sex!"

"Yeah, except for the sex." He gritted his teeth in exasperation. "You know, you don't see me telling you how to live your private life. Christ, Clarke, you have a boyfriend! One you keep shoving in my face!"

"_Shoving?_ There's been no shoving! I just... I told you about him because you're my best friend, too. And I thought that's what best friends do. They tell each other the important stuff."

Bellamy nodded, took a deep breath, working hard to pull back from the angry retort that hovered on his lips.

"You're right," he conceded. "I probably should have told you. But I guess I just... couldn't think of a good way to do it. I knew you... might not like it."

"And yet... you still did it," she said, expelling a quiet breath.

"Yes. So then, are you the only one allowed to have a sex life?"

He knew he was probably just making things worse. Upsetting Clarke more. Widening the divide that seemed to be growing between them by leaps and bounds. But somehow, the whole thing seemed so fucking _unfair_.

"Of course not!" she said, her voice tight and raspy. "But couldn't you have picked someone to - to _fuck_ that I didn't have to work with every day?"

_Christ! _

"Clarke," he said desperately, wondering how the hell they'd reached such an impasse.

Craving something to reconnect them, some small contact to relieve the growing anxiety in the pit of his stomach, Bellamy reached out to brush his hand across her arm. But she shook off even that gentle touch.

And just at that most inopportune moment, a Yellow Taxi pulled up, his light indicating he was cruising for passengers.

"You folks looking for a cab," the driver shouted through the passenger-side window.

"Yes!" Clarke yelled, sprinting across the sidewalk and yanking open the rear door as though that taxi were her salvation.

"Clarke!" Bellamy rasped, appalled. "What are you doing? We can't leave it like this!"

She turned to him, her expression both bleak and resolute.

"I don't think there's really anything left to say."

He sighed in frustration as he watched her slide into the cab, and within seconds it had disappeared down the busy Boston street.

Bellamy stood on that sidewalk surrounded by what felt like the wreckage of his life until he suddenly recalled that he still had another obligation. He returned to the bar to find that Cillian and Echo were still talking shop, and his Long Island Iced Tea was sitting on the table, condensation dripping down the outside of the glass.

For a micro-second, he considered taking his seat, resuming his evening, and actually going back to Echo's place and fucking her like nothing had happened.

But he knew he couldn't do it.

"Did Clarke get off okay?" Cillian asked, looking up as Bellamy stood there in silence.

"Yeah, she's... fine," he said. _The truth, and at the same time, very much a lie._

He turned toward Echo with a quiet sigh. "Look, Echo, I'm sorry, but I'm... feeling kinda crap. I don't think I'm going to be able to, uh, make it tonight."

"Oh?" she said, her eyes narrowing in surprise.

"Yeah, I've just... I gotta get home."

He pulled out his wallet and dropped a twenty onto the table.

"What's that for?" she asked, frowning.

"Uh, the tea?"

"Jesus, Bellamy, they pay me pretty well. I think I can afford to buy you a drink. Even one you don't actually drink."

"Okay, then... cab fare?"

Echo sighed and rolled her eyes.

"Same again."

Bellamy nodded, picking up the bill, as a new thought suddenly hit him.

"Shit! I'm leaving you here in the middle of the night. I can get you a cab right now..."

"Don't worry, Bellamy," Cillian spoke up quickly. "I'll help her find one when she wants to go."

Bellamy nodded brusquely, and as he left the lounge he was hit by the sudden realization that if he weren't Clarke's boyfriend, Bellamy would probably like Cillian Ryan.

It was barely two miles to his condo and he decided to walk it, hoping that the exercise would exhaust him enough that he'd sleep like a lamb.

He should have known better.

That evening's dustup with Clarke seemed to have opened up a yawning divide between them, and he wasn't sure he had the remotest idea how to bridge it. As he tossed and turned in his bed, that worry felt overwhelming, the sheer weight of it impossible to bear.


	8. Chapter 8

Bellamy spent the rest of the weekend stewing about the godawful mess he'd made of things with Clarke and trying to figure out how to make it right.

_Of fucking course_ he should have been upfront with her about Echo! He saw that now. Not only was Clarke the best friend he'd ever had, but the three of them worked closely together. So keeping her in the dark had been like lying to his best friend every single day.

And why the hell _hadn't_ he told her? After all, Clarke had a boyfriend, so Bellamy's casual fling with Echo should have been no big deal.

_Right?_

Bellamy agonized over it for two days before finally admitting to himself that deep down he'd known all along that Clarke would hate what he was doing. Despite having a boyfriend. And no matter what kind of casual label he slapped on it.

So he'd taken the path of least resistance and said nothing, and now he was paying the price.

And even though he'd tried to convince himself that sleeping with Echo was no different than any other other casual sex he'd indulged in, he knew that for the lie it was.

Not just because Clarke hated it, although that was bad enough.

There was also Echo to consider.

Despite her claims that she was only interested in _casual_, there was always the outside chance that she might eventually get attached to him. Bellamy liked Echo, but he didn't love her, and he knew he never would. How could he when he was already in love with Clarke?

But Echo didn't know that because he'd never bothered to tell her.

Lies of omission all the way around. He really had been an equal opportunity asshole.

As he crawled into bed on Sunday night, exhausted by his 2-day effort to make sense of his personal life, Bellamy reconsidered all the ways in which he'd thoroughly and completely screwed it up. Every bad decision and every wrong choice.

He was certain he'd lost the chance to ever be with Clarke, but maybe there was still a way he could salvage their friendship.

And he knew there was really only one way to make that happen.

Which meant he had not one but two painful and uncomfortable conversations ahead of him.

XXXXXXXXXX

Since Bellamy had poured himself into crafting the perfect apology for Clarke, the exact right words that would cool her anger and repair the fractures to their friendship, he arrived at work earlier than usual on Monday, intent on finding a private moment to deliver that apology.

But in this he was thwarted.

Instead, he spent the afternoon watching people come and go from Clarke's office, which was across and down the hall from his own. By the time the early newscast was nearly ready to roll he still hadn't found an opportunity to speak to her alone, and had begun to worry that his apology might have to wait until afterwards.

Bellamy couldn't imagine how he'd be able sit next to her for an entire hour knowing she was still mad at him.

The clock on his desk told him there were only minutes left until he was due in makeup when he noticed the wardrobe woman leaving Clarke's office for the final time. Her door was still open and Bellamy took a chance, hurrying over and hesitantly rapping on the doorframe.

Clearing his throat nervously, his carefully-prepared speech on the tip of his tongue, Bellamy waited for Clarke to look up. And prayed her expression would let him accurately gauge her level of residual anger.

What he hadn't expected was the bland smile.

"Bellamy," she said, gazing up at him coolly, "how can I help you?"

Her head turned fractionally and she glanced up at the old-fashioned analog clock on the office wall.

"It's getting a little late. Can whatever this is wait until after the six o'clock?"

Bellamy gaped in surprise. Clarke's voice sounded as unconcerned as he'd ever heard it. Where was the anger? Where the hell was the _hurt_?

He was totally unnerved, his carefully-worded apology suddenly seeming overblown and unnecessary. But he couldn't leave without saying something. He couldn't just... let it lie.

He stepped into the office and closed the door behind him. No matter what, this wasn't a conversation he wanted overheard.

"I just wanted to say... about Friday... how sorry I am, Clarke. You know, about Echo. I should have told you, of course, and then I said some things to you..."

"Oh, that," she interrupted breezily, waving her hand. "Don't worry about it. It was no big deal."

Bellamy's jaw dropped and he drew in a surprised breath.

_No big deal?_

"I... don't understand."

She shrugged. "Something unexpected happened and I... overreacted. Sorry about that."

Bellamy was dumbfounded. What the fuck? _She_ was apologizing to _him_?

His eyes narrowed in disbelief.

"So it's all good then? Just like that?"

"Sure, why not?" she said, the bland smile returning, her voice deliberate. "Your private life is your own business. It's got nothing to do with me. I don't need any explanations."

"Nothing to do with you? You're still my best friend, Clarke. And.. maybe there's something I want to say to you, something I _need_ to say. Even if you don't think you need to hear it. Maybe I think it's important."

For just an instant, something flashed behind her eyes, and the bland smile seemed to falter just a bit before it was firmly back in place.

"All right," she said finally. "But we're due in makeup in two minutes, so I'll catch up with you after the newscast."

"Good," he said, unaccountably relieved. Instinct told him this was a conversation they had to have. That brushing it under the rug was a bad idea. "We can talk then."

As always, he was done with makeup long before Clarke, and as he made his way onto the set he caught sight of Echo. Bellamy sighed. Here was another conversation he definitely couldn't put off.

"Hey, Echo, do you think you could stop by my office a little later?" he asked quietly, coming up behind her. "Maybe after you get your dinner?"

Something about the quality of Echo's smile as she turned towards him told him that she may have misunderstood. Her words confirmed it.

"You want to go for a replay of Friday night?" she murmured with a sly wink. "We never did get to have those... drinks."

"No!" he said quickly, and her eyes widened at his vehemence.

He winced inwardly, told himself to hold it together.

"I just need to talk to you about something. Can you come by after you eat?"

Echo stared at him in silence for a moment and then shrugged.

"Sure," she said, "I guess. But why don't you just tell me whatever it is right now?"

"I don't have time," he told her quickly, glancing up at the row of clocks that lined the back wall, all of them showing five minutes to the hour. "We're on in a few minutes."

"Okay," Echo said, following his eyes to the clocks. "But I still don't see why..."

"After dinner," he interrupted firmly, giving her a quick smile before he stepped behind the anchor desk and slid into his chair.

Echo threw him a perplexed glance, but then hurried off just before Clarke appeared and took the seat beside him.

"Clarke," Bellamy murmured, "I really need to explain..."

But as he'd done only a few moments earlier, she cocked her head at the row of clocks.

"Not now," she said, but this time her smile seemed sincere. "We can talk later. I promise."

XXXXXXXXXX

He'd barely made it back to his office when he heard the knock on his door. Bellamy smiled, reading Clarke's promptness as a good sign. One that might mean she was as eager for this conversation as he was.

But it wasn't Clarke who stepped through the doorway a moment later.

"Echo! I thought you were coming by after dinner. This is, um, not such a good time..."

Echo frowned, gazing down at him as he sat at his desk.

"Yeah? You don't look too busy. And I decided not to wait because you're acting fucking weird, Bellamy. What the hell is going on?"

Bellamy sighed. She was there now so he supposed he might just as well get it over with. He considered asking her to sit, but somehow this wasn't a conversation he wanted to conduct across his desk, like she was there for some fucking job interview.

He rose abruptly.

"Let's sit over there," he said, crossing to the sofa that hugged the opposite wall.

Echo hesitated, then shrugged, moving quickly to join him on the sofa.

"Okay," she said. "What's up?"

Bellamy couldn't help his wry smile. Echo was as direct as ever.

He cleared his throat noisily.

"First of all, I'm sorry about Friday night. That I couldn't, uh, follow through on our plans. So... you got home okay?"

She looked at him like he had two heads.

"I'm here, aren't I?"

Right. He really did sound like an idiot.

"Still, to leave you there like that..."

She shrugged again. "I'm a big girl, and besides, I wasn't alone. Cillian and I had a great talk about the business."

Bellamy nodded. "Good. That's good. Well, uh..."

But Echo interrupted him, her lips turning up in a sly smile.

"But if you feel that bad about it, you can always make it up to me tonight."

"I can't," he said firmly.

She blinked at his abrupt response. "Well, then tomorrow or some other night this week. Except Thursday. That won't work for me..."

"No, Echo, you don't understand. What I meant was," Bellamy expelled a heavy breath, "I can't do this anymore. This... casual sex thing with you. At all."

Her eyes widened in surprise. "What? Why not? Weren't we having a good time? I know I was. And you seemed to be, too. And it's not like I ever asked anything from you."

"No, you never did..."

"Then why? What's the reason?"

"The reason is... it's kind of complicated, but believe me, it's about me, not you. Or anything you've done."

"Then what?" Her face took on a stubborn look, as if she would insist on having a reason that made sense to her.

Bellamy sighed. He could hardly tell her that somehow it felt like a betrayal of Clarke. That what had begun as a grab for comfort, a momentary physical release, now filled him with guilt.

"I'm sorry," he said, and he was. Sorry for what must feel like rejection to Echo, even though his change of mind was equally as... impersonal... as their sexual liaison had been.

Bellamy reached over and squeezed her hand, his smile wry.

"This is my fault. I should have stuck to my guns and never started this... whatever it is we were doing. We work together every day, and that can make things really awkward..."

Bellamy was so focused on trying to make Echo feel better that just at first he didn't hear the click of the office door opening. It wasn't until it swung wide that he even realized there was someone else in the room.

"Bellamy! Sorry I'm so..." Clarke's eyes swept over his empty desk chair then widened as they flicked across the room to the sofa where the two of them sat, his hand covering Echo's.

"... late."

Her voice, at first brisk and purposeful, had fallen away to a whisper by the time she reached the last word.

_Shit! How the hell could he have forgotten she was coming?_

"Clarke!" Bellamy rose quickly. "Echo and I are just finishing up here..."

"Don't be silly!" Clarke told him quickly, her face a mask. "I wouldn't dream of interrupting."

She'd backed out of the room and closed the door before he even had time to react.

And then he was racing across the room, yanking the door open, calling to her as she hurried down the corridor.

"Clarke, wait! We haven't had our talk yet. Please! You promised!"

She pulled up short and he saw her back stiffen just before she wheeled around to face him.

"No need," she said firmly. "I think I know what you were going to say."

_She knew? _ How the hell could she possibly know what he'd been going to say when he didn't know himself!

"No, you don't! I..."

"Bellamy! Stop! There's no need to... prolong this. I already told you it's all fine. Please just go back inside your office and... resume whatever it was you were doing with Echo."

And then she pivoted again, slipping through the doorway to her own office, closing it behind her firmly.

He heard the heavy _snick_ as Clarke engaged the bolt.

Hardly knowing what he was doing, Bellamy turned back to find Echo standing his doorway, her face alight with sudden comprehension.

When she shook her head at him and asked, "How the hell could I have been so stupid?" he was uncertain whether she actually expected a response.

But he gave her the only one possible.

"I ask myself that same question a hundred times a day."

XXXXXXXXXX

The week that followed was agonizingly difficult for Bellamy. While as professional as ever on set, Clarke continued to firmly rebuff any personal overtures from Bellamy. He desperately wanted a chance to explain the truth of what had actually been happening in his office with Echo, but it looked like he'd used up all his chances with Clarke.

Echo seemed to be avoiding him, too, but in a way that was totally devoid of hostility. He once caught her rolling her eyes at him from across the room after Clarke had once again sidestepped another of his attempts at conversation.

"Pathetic," Echo told him as she breezed by him a minute later.

Bellamy couldn't help agreeing with her.

The only thing that kept him going was a firm belief that eventually Clarke would relent and he'd be allowed to explain himself. Time, he told himself over and over. He'd done something idiotic, yes, but the rest was all a terrible misunderstanding. He just needed to wait her out to get their relationship back on its usual footing. To that place of firm friendship.

But on Friday evening, between the newscasts, Bellamy learned that time wasn't going to be on his side after all.

Kane had called an unexpected staff meeting, and Bellamy was perplexed when his boss threw him an apologetic glance as soon as he walked in the door. But it wasn't until Clarke stepped up to stand beside Kane that he felt a sudden foreboding.

"I've got some exciting news for all of you," Kane began, "but it's news that I definitely have mixed feelings about. Clarke Griffin, who's been with this station for nearly six years, has been offered a position with the network, and she just told me yesterday that she's decided to take it. So next week will be her last here at WBOS. I'm very happy for Clarke, as I'm sure we all are, but of course we'll miss her..."

Kane continued to drone on, but while Bellamy heard the words, somehow he couldn't seem to take them in. He understood only one thing.

Clarke was taking a job with the network.

She was leaving the station. Leaving their partnership.

Leaving _him_.

_The one thing he'd spent the last four years trying to prevent was happening anyway._

The others were crowding around her now, but Bellamy was frozen, unable to feel anything but his own pain. He finally looked up and caught her eye, holding her glance for several long seconds when neither seemed able to look away.

It wasn't a happy glance she tossed back at him, but he thought maybe that was just a reflection of his own feelings. She certainly had plenty of smiles for the rest of the staff when they congratulated her on her new job.

Bellamy wasn't sure how he made it through the eleven o'clock newscast, but maybe it was just... muscle memory. They'd been doing it for so long now that it had become second nature. But as soon as they were off the air, he rushed out to his car and headed home, for once simply unable to deal with the situation.

He fell into a deep sleep almost immediately, but awoke with a start just as dawn was breaking to find that his mind was racing, fracturing, splintering into a million pieces.

After a while, those splinters coalesced into a single coherent thought.

_He had to talk to her._

Clarke was leaving without ever knowing how he felt about her. Without ever knowing how much it had cost him to suppress those feelings, all to prevent the very thing that was happening anyway.

Well, she was with someone else, so he could hardly go to her now with protestations of devotion. But they'd had a friendship, he and Clarke, and an extraordinary partnership. And maybe he could still persuade her that what they had professionally couldn't be replicated with just anyone. Maybe he could get her to reconsider.

Maybe he could get her to stay.

At the very least, after everything he'd been through, everything they'd both been through, he had to try.

XXXXXXXXXX

When she didn't answer the door immediately, Bellamy's heart dropped into his stomach. Maybe she wasn't there, maybe she'd already taken the shuttle for one of her New York weekends. Maybe everything that was bottled up inside him was doomed to stay there forever.

Maybe he was just too fucking late.

But Bellamy was too tired and too distraught to think rationally, so he just kept pounding on that door, determined not to give up until he was forced to.

"Clarke! Are you in there? I really need to talk to you."

And then he heard footsteps, and finally her voice.

"What are you doing here, Bellamy?"

He nearly drowned in his relief that she hadn't left after all, and struggled to remain calm.

"Well, if you let me in I can tell you."

For several long moments there was only silence, and when she spoke again he could barely hear her.

"I don't know what more there is to say."

"You don't have to say anything, Clarke. You just have to listen. Please."

More silence, and finally a sigh so soft he knew she must be standing just inside the door.

"Okay," she said, and then the door clicked and swung open. She pulled it wide, allowing Bellamy to brush past without touching her, then quickly closed it behind him.

"What is it?" she asked, her tone curt, her arms folded protectively across her body.

Bellamy studied Clarke, noting the classic defensive posture as well as her slightly bloodshot eyes. _Had she been crying?_ Or was she just exhausted from dealing with all the changes in her life?

But he had no time to ponder that. Instead, he hurried into speech.

"I'm sorry, Clarke. That's the first thing. I can't tell you how much I hate that I might have hurt you, or our friendship. So I need to make that apology."

Bellamy was proud of his calm, rational tone. The very last thing he wanted was to overwhelm her with emotion.

Clarke nodded but made no reply, so he quickly launched into the rest.

"You and I, we've always had such a great partnership," he began, following the script he'd been polishing in his head since sunrise. "We've accomplished so much together professionally. I really think that in a few years we could be the best in the business."

Bellamy paused as he reached his point. And his plea.

"If only you'd stay."

"I can't stay," she said immediately, her voice brusque.

"Of course I understand that you want to be near Cillian."

Bellamy wanted to be fair, to let her know he understood her point of view.

"No. Bellamy..."

She tried to interrupt, but he kept right on talking, determined to lay his arguments out, just like he'd planned.

"I do see how it would seem to make perfect sense," he said, forcing himself to be reasonable, even as his heart wanted to insist that she _couldn't_ leave. That he _needed_ her to stay. "But you guys seem to have made it work so far. Do you actually need to move to New York? Couldn't you just carry on..."

"Bellamy! Stop!"

He ground to a halt, surprised by her sudden vehemence.

"This move has _nothing_ to do with Cillian."

Bellamy's eyes narrowed. "Are you sure it doesn't factor in somewhere? I mean, the convenience alone..."

Clarke drew in a heavy breath.

"No, it doesn't factor in at all. Because Cillian and I broke up."

Bellamy blinked, so shocked by this news that for a moment he could only gape at her. It was the last thing he'd expected. Because if they'd broken up, then... none of it made sense.

"When did you break up?"

"What does it matter! The point is that I'm making this move for _me_."

"But then... I don't get it! You've always said we've got the greatest jobs in the universe. And that you'd hate working for the networks."

"Yeah? Well, maybe I changed my mind, and a move now looks pretty damn good!"

"But... how can you just leave like this if there's nothing pulling you from that end? You're just gonna leave our partnership? Leave _me_? Six years together, and you wanna just... throw that away?"

Bellamy could hear his voice rising and he struggled to tamp down his feelings of abandonment.

Clarke's face closed down and she wrapped her arms more tightly around her body.

"Oh? You mean my partnership with the guy who lies to my face? Who tells me one thing and then does something else? That partnership?"

Bellamy gaped at her, completely taken aback.

"When the hell did I ever lie to your face?"

Clarke's chin shot up and she let out a harsh breath. Seconds ticked by before she finally answered.

"You could have told me the truth about you and Echo. There was no need for you to lie and tell me it was... just sex."

"What the hell! I _never_ lied about that! I'm not proud of carrying on such a... a superficial affair, but I never lied about it."

Her mouth thinned and her expression hardened. "And that tender scene I walked in on in your office last week?"

"Jesus! That was me breaking it off! Me telling her we couldn't meet like that anymore. Me... trying to be a little kind while I did it."

Her face registered shock, then disbelief.

"And why would you want to end it?"

"Because it wasn't right! Because I never should have let it happen in the first place!"

"Because you work together, and you have rules about that, right?"

"Yes!"

Shit! Now he _was_ lying to her face.

"No," he sighed, correcting himself, "that's not it at all."

Clarke blinked up at him. "I don't understand."

"I know," he said, and then it suddenly occurred to him that Clarke _wasn't_ with someone. Not anymore. That maybe he _could_ tell her everything. And that maybe if he did...

Bellamy reached out for her, relieved when she let him pull her arms away from her body. When she let him grasp her hands and hold on tight. Because he desperately needed to be touching her while he tried to explain.

"The truth is," he began, then paused, swallowing hard, "the truth is that the only person I had that no-dating rule about... was you. I was so afraid that if we got involved, started dating, became... intimate, that after a while it would all blow up in our faces. That you'd get sick of me, sick of _us_, and then I'd lose the best friend I ever had."

He could see Clarke's throat working and then she finally spoke.

"And you never thought to mention this... arbitrary decision of yours to me?" she said, her voice tight. "Maybe ask my opinion?"

Bellamy sighed. "I knew it wouldn't take much for you to talk me out of it, Clarke, to convince me it would be okay. And I was so sure that _not being with you _was the only way to keep the friendship, and the partnership. To keep... _you_. I thought we could just... date other people but still be, you know, _us._"

He shook his head, considered how much of a fool he'd really been. "But the longer I knew you the harder it was to force myself to stay away. And then last year you started dating Cillian, and _fuck_, Clarke! That hurt like hell. And now," he shook his head at the irony, "it's all been for nothing because you're leaving anyway. And I honestly don't know how the hell I'm going to deal after you're gone."

He stopped then, exhausted, having run out of words. Unsure of where to find more, especially the magic ones that would convince her to stay.

"My dating Cillian... hurt like hell?" Her voice sounded scratchy, as though her throat were sore.

"Jesus, Clarke! Of course it did! Haven't I just told you..."

"All you've told me is that you didn't want to date me."

"Didn't _want_ to... For Christ's sakes, didn't you hear what I've been telling you? Of fucking _course_ I wanted to date you. I wanted to be with you more than anything in the world!"

Bellamy closed his eyes briefly and pulled in a lungful of air. Squeezed her hands, trying to anchor himself with her touch.

Then he looked into her eyes and girded himself because he knew he finally had to say the words.

"I've always wanted to be with you, Clarke," he told her again, more softly this time, more gently. "_Always_. I've been in love with you for years."

Clarke drew in a sharp breath, and her eyes darted all over his face.

"No!" she said suddenly, and when she pulled her hands away he immediately felt the loss.

"What do you mean _no_? I'm pretty sure I know how I feel."

"I mean... you don't get to say that. You do _not_ get to just come in here and tell me that and try to turn my life upside down _now_, just when I'm... when I'm finally putting it back together!"

Clarke drew herself up and he watched in disbelief as her face hardened and she squared her shoulders.

"Okay, Bellamy, you've said your piece, and now I think you should leave. I'm... very busy."

_What the hell?_

"Clarke! You can't mean that!"

He'd finally told her how he felt about her and she just... rejected the sentiment? Not just _him_, but the whole _idea_ of it?

"Clarke, please. Can't we at least talk about this?"

"_Now_ you want to talk about it? After everything you've put me through all these years? Sorry, Bellamy, but it's just... too little, too late."

Her face and voice were implacable.

"We only have one more week to work together and after that I think it would probably be best if we just... cut our losses."

For endless seconds, he simply stared at her, too distraught to move. But she'd asked him to leave her home and he could hardly do anything else. His legs felt sluggish as he made his way to the door, as though his very muscles and sinew were reluctant to go.

By the time he finally wrenched open the door, Bellamy had never in his life felt quite so empty inside.

He turned to see Clarke staring at him from across the room, her posture stiff and her eyes suspiciously red.

"I'm... so sorry," he said softly. "I never thought it would turn out this way."

Clarke nodded. "See you Monday," she rasped, as he stepped through the doorway.

When he heard the soft _snick_ of the door closing, Bellamy understood that he'd utterly failed in what had been his last desperate chance to set things right with Clarke Griffin.

The woman he knew with everything in him was nothing less than the love of his life.


	9. Chapter 9

It was only his years of experience that carried Bellamy through the week that followed.

Any hope he may have had of opening a new dialogue with Clarke was quashed late Monday afternoon when she barely responded to his greeting, turning away quickly to skitter back into her office.

She was all cordial smiles and professional courtesy on set, of course, just as he'd expected. But as soon as the cameras were off and the lights dimmed, he might as well not have existed. Even his attempts to engage her in ordinary conversation - _because how many more times would he have a chance to do even that? _\- were quietly rebuffed.

"We can't even discuss the weather, Clarke? Is that what it's come to now?" he asked bluntly when she ignored his mundane comment on the current heat wave.

"Please, Bellamy," she said quietly, glancing at him only out of the corner of her eye. "Don't make this harder than it has to be."

Bellamy thought Kane might have caught that brief exchange, because a short while later the news director appeared at his office door.

"Look... Bellamy... I can't help thinking this is somehow my fault," Kane said, clearly dismayed. "That I gave you bad advice and now it's come to this."

Bellamy shrugged. "I'm sure we'll find a new anchor, although it may take a little time. We can start checking resumes next week. Meanwhile, I guess I can handle it on my own for a while."

"You know damn well that's not what I meant." Kane's voice was full of sympathy, and perhaps more than a tinge of regret. "I know how you feel about Clarke."

Bellamy's lips twisted into a rueful smile. "I had choices, Marcus. All along the the way I had choices. Six years worth. And every time it really counted, I made the wrong one. And now it's too late. But that's on me, not you. I'm just sorry that the station may be losing a great newsperson because of my stupidity."

"I can't even think about looking for a new anchor until after she's gone." Kane sighed. "Clarke's going to be damn hard to replace."

Bellamy drew in a sharp breath, working hard to maintain his composure.

"That wouldn't even be possible," he said, his voice flat, "because Clarke is irreplaceable."

As the week wore on, the situation at the station became more and more difficult, and by late Friday morning, after an almost sleepless night, Bellamy's nerves were stretched thin. Besides the newscasts, Jaha had scheduled a farewell reception for Clarke that day, and Bellamy knew he'd look like an asshole if he didn't at least put in an appearance.

He began to wonder if he'd even be able to make it through the day.

And that's when it came to him that maybe this _one time _he could allow himself to shirk his responsibilities and not even try.

In all the years he'd been with the station, Bellamy had taken only a handful of sick days, and most of those had been one winter when he was down with the flu. So why the hell shouldn't he just... call in sick? He may not have had a fever, but his head was splitting, his stomach was roiling, and his eyes felt gritty. By 11pm, he knew he'd be lucky if he could even read the teleprompter well enough to do his damn job.

For once, he just couldn't find it in him to face the day.

Clarke's last day at at the station.

_Clarke's last day in his life._

Before he could talk himself out of it, he put in a call to Kane and told him he wouldn't be in that day. He thought his boss might ask for details, but he didn't.

"I thought you were looking a little ragged yesterday," was all the man said. "Take care of yourself, Bellamy."

Now that he'd begged off work, Bellamy thought he might try to grab a nap, make up a bit for his sleepless night. But after he'd lain there wide-eyed and wakeful for nearly an hour, he knew that wasn't happening.

He grabbed a book, an old favorite, but his eyes burned and he couldn't seem to focus. After he'd read the same paragraph six times without the slightest bit of comprehension he closed the book with a snap.

Running out of options, he finally tuned into the Food Network, hoping to while away what was left of the afternoon with reruns of _Chopped_ and _Good Eats._ He dozed off periodically, but was awake at 5:55, and couldn't seem to stop himself from switching to WBOS for a look at the early evening news.

And a last tantalizing glimpse of Clarke Griffin.

She seemed just as always, turning with practiced ease toward Dax, who was subbing for him. Bellamy hardly ever got to observe Clarke's work from this perspective, and he was forcibly reminded of how good she was, moving easily from story to story and conveying them all smoothly to the viewers.

At seven, he turned off the television and cobbled together a meal from the meager contents of his pantry and refrigerator. He postponed a decision on whether he could endure watching the late newscast, but in the end it didn't matter. By 11 o'clock he was fast asleep on his living room couch, finally overcome by sheer exhaustion.

So when the rapping began, Bellamy was dead to the world and didn't hear it. Only when that gentle rap became a heavy relentless pounding did he awaken with a start, disoriented and confused, to find that he was still on the couch in his dimly-lit living room.

And someone was knocking loudly at his door.

He glanced at the schoolhouse clock on the wall, a housewarming gift from Clarke. When he saw that it was one in the morning, alarms went off inside his head, sending him off the couch in a headlong rush toward the door.

He yanked it open only to find that it wasn't after all the police standing there, or the fire department, but instead the last person he might have expected to see.

"Clarke! What... what are you _doing_ here?"

Bellamy struggled to shake the rest of the cobwebs from his brain, to make sense of what his eyes were telling him.

"You're not really sick, are you?" she spit out the words, her eyes accusing, before charging past him into the room. "I knew it!"

He shut the door behind her.

"Clarke..."

But whatever had prompted this late-night visit, it clearly wasn't that she was interested in anything he might have to say.

She whirled to face him.

"Why didn't you show up for work today?" she asked, biting out the question. And then not waiting for an answer.

"You're such a coward," she sneered, "hiding out here instead of doing your job!"

Bellamy finally found his voice.

"Clarke, I'm sorry. I just... I couldn't face it. And besides," he shrugged, "I figured you'd have a much better last day if I wasn't around..."

"That's bullshit!" she interrupted vehemently. She'd stepped closer by then, and though her face was filled with anger, he could see that a glassy sheen had begun to coat her eyes. "You were supposed to be there! I was supposed to get my last newscast with you! My last _look_ at you!"

Bellamy gaped at her while she glared at him accusingly.

"How dare you rob me of that!"

He drew in a harsh breath. _What the hell was she talking about?_

"Do you know why I hate you?" she asked suddenly, clearly not finished with her tirade.

He shook his head, unable to do more than stand there and wait for her to enlighten him.

"Well, I'll tell you," she said, but by now Clarke's voice had begun to shake, and the glassy sheen had given way to a pool of tears that lined her lashes and threatened to spill over any second.

"I hate you because I couldn't hide from myself how crushed I was that you weren't there today! I hate that I already missed you and it was only one fucking day! How am I supposed to move away and leave you?"

She gazed up at him, and suddenly the tears were flowing fast.

"But most of all I hate that I love you so much that I don't know how in the hell I'm going to be able to just... cut you out of my life."

Bellamy gasped at her words but had no time to process them. Because Clarke was standing in his living room crying and it was his fucking fault.

"Clarke," he groaned, reaching out instinctively, pulling her to him tightly and wrapping her in his arms. Desperate to take away her pain. "I'm so sorry. I hardly slept at all last night, and I just... didn't think I could handle today."

She was still sobbing softly, and when he felt her arms clutching at his waist, Bellamy wondered if he was sick after all and this was just some kind of fever dream. If it was, he never wanted to wake up.

He pulled back just enough look down at her, and began to rub his thumbs gently over the tears that lined her cheeks.

"Please don't cry, Clarke. I am so fucking sorry. Not just for today. For everything."

Bellamy drew in a deep breath, afraid to ask but desperate to know if she'd really meant it.

"Clarke, did you..." he paused, swallowed hard, "did you just say that you loved me?"

She nodded slowly. "Yes. But you already knew that."

He shook his head. "No. I really didn't. I thought... maybe there was something a long time ago. But then you moved on..."

Her voice was still shaky, but by now the tears had dried up. Much of her anger seemed to have dried up as well.

"I don't know how you could have been so clueless, Bellamy. I've been in love with you for... a long time. But you sent so many mixed signals, I convinced myself it was all in my head. I _did_ try to move on. Sometimes, I really thought I had. But then... when I saw you with Echo..."

"Christ, Clarke! Echo and I, we were never... it wasn't _like_ that..."

"I know that now," she said. "But still, it made me realize how unfair it was to Cillian. I couldn't keep dating him if I could feel that way just... seeing you out with someone else." She sighed. "I knew I had to break up with him."

Bellamy inhaled sharply. "I'm so damn sorry I hurt you like that, Clarke. You've gotta know it's only ever been you. I've been in love with you... almost from the beginning."

They stared at one another for several silent moments until Clarke finally nodded.

"So you said when you came by last week."

Bellamy's lips tugged up in a lopsided smile.

"Yeah, but if I recall, you ripped me a new one, handed me my ass, and then threw me out the door. You said it was... _too little, too late_, I think were your exact words... and that you couldn't forgive me for being such an asshole."

Clarke huffed a quiet laugh.

"Oh, yeah, I tried," she said, her voice laced with irony. "I tried _so fucking hard _not to forgive you. Told myself all week that you'd made us both miserable for years and you didn't deserve forgiveness. But then I kept remembering that all that time you'd also been my best friend. By the time I got to the station tonight, I hardly knew which end was up. And when you didn't show, all I could think about was how desperately I wanted to see you."

Bellamy couldn't repress the hope that had begun to surge through him.

"Are you telling me... are you saying that maybe you _can_ forgive me? That maybe you _have_ forgiven me?"

The seconds ticked by while he waited in agony for her response.

Finally she sighed heavily.

"I've been so angry with you, Bellamy, and I _hated_ feeling like that. Especially since... I couldn't forget that I'd never tried to talk to you about any of it. And that maybe I should have. So the truth is..." Clarke paused and then gave a resigned little shrug, "...the truth is that I can't stand being without you, so it looks like I'll have to forgive you."

"_Clarke."_ He could do no more than whisper her name as waves of emotion began to course through him.

She reached up and stroked her palm lightly across his cheek and along his jaw.

"So what do you say we stop talking about it now? Because that feels like such a waste of time, and I really don't want to waste any more time."

Her soft touch sent chills skittering up his spine, and suddenly Bellamy could scarcely breathe. He reached out to smooth his hand through her hair, and then bent ever so slowly, ever so hesitantly, to slide his lips across hers in a gentle kiss.

Clarke's breath hitched and her eyes fluttered shut.

Sensation and awareness pulsed through Bellamy as the kiss slowly deepened.

This was Clarke! He was kissing _Clarke_!

He pulled her flush against him then, and she wound her arms around his neck and began to return the kiss with abandon. Desire throbbed within Bellamy as what had begun as a soft sweet brush of lips suddenly exploded into fierce passion. Hearts pounded, bodies twisted, arms caressed, lips and tongues moved in tandem... and six years of yearning poured into that one frantic moment.

Love and lust and longing rolled through Bellamy, soon leaving him hard and wanting.

He pulled away abruptly, gasping for breath, crushing Clarke to his chest and burying his face in her neck.

"Maybe we should slow this down a little," he murmured, the words coming out on short breathy pants as he tried to regain some control over his body.

She pulled back to look up at him.

"Why the hell would we want to do that? After all this, are you still trying to push me away?"

"God, no, Clarke! I want you more than anything. But... I don't want to rush you."

Clarke's smile was indulgent. "Bellamy, you're the only person I know who'd think that waiting six years was _rushing_ me."

"You know what I mean," he said, all his old worries threatening to resurface. "Are you _sure_ you want to be with me?"

She frowned at him in confusion, but then her face cleared and her eyes turned soft. Like maybe she could finally see all the fears inside his head.

"I'm sure," she whispered, ruffling her hand through his hair. "I've always been sure."

"Thank god!" Bellamy said, bending to kiss her softly. "Because I don't know what the I'd have done if you'd said you wanted to leave."

Clarke grinned. "I definitely don't want to leave. Now... where the hell is the bedroom?"

Bellamy laughed, and on sudden impulse bent and picked her up, shifting her into his arms and against his chest.

"What are you doing?" she squealed, laughing, grabbing onto his neck for balance.

"Your host is escorting you to the bedroom," he told her, grinning.

As he moved down the hallway, Clarke used her arms to leverage herself up and rain tiny kisses all over his face.

"If you don't stop that, we'll never make it," he scolded, laughing.

But by the time they reached the bedroom, Bellamy was doing anything but laughing.

He laid her on the bed as gently as possible, following her down and kissing her desperately. She tugged at his shirt, and soon clothes were being torn off haphazardly, their only aim to remove them as quickly as possible.

"You're so fucking beautiful," Bellamy breathed, gazing down at her as she lay naked in his bed. He worshipped her breasts with soft caresses before bending to take a hard nipple in his mouth. And was utterly thrilled to hear Clarke's moans of response.

"I've dreamed of this," he murmured, stroking his tongue along the deep valley between her breasts. "Of you here in my bed. Of being able to touch you like this. Of all the different ways I want to love you."

"I've dreamed of it, too," she said, tugging his head up. "But right now I really just want you inside me."

Bellamy groaned. He'd been trying to hold off a little, wanting her very badly but trying to give her enough time. But it seemed she didn't need any more.

"Yeah," he said, kissing her gently. "That's what I want, too."

When he slid his hard length into her a moment later, Bellamy could barely think, his mind a jumble of love and lust. And as he stroked strongly in and out of Clarke's body, and listened to her soft sounds of pleasure, he could hold only one thought in his head.

_Home_.

XXXXXXXXXX

It wasn't until much later, as they lay wrapped in each other's arms, that Bellamy suddenly remembered.

"Shit, Clarke," he murmured sleepily in her ear. "What about your new job? When does it start? I promise we'll make this work no matter what. Maybe I can get a job with the network, too. It's not like I haven't had feelers..."

"Bellamy, stop!" Clarke smiled, placing two fingers gently over his lips. "I haven't signed the contract yet. I was supposed to do that Monday. And Kane's been trying to get me to change my mind ever since I told him. Especially... tonight. I think he knew how upset I was when you didn't show up, even though," she smiled wryly, "I tried to hide it. So he'd be happy if I stayed."

Bellamy frowned. "Are you sure about this? I know I tried to convince you not to leave, but that was selfish of me. This is a great career opportunity..."

"...which I don't want. You were right. I love the job I've got and I really never wanted to leave. I just," she sighed, "couldn't deal with how things were between us. Or... how I thought they were."

"So you're happy staying in Boston? Because I would never want to hold you back."

"Absolutely. I'm as sure of that as I am that I love you. This is my choice, Bellamy. In every way, I'm exactly where I want to be."

Bellamy was relieved and grateful. And so in love he could hardly contain himself.

The next day, Clarke called her contact at the network to let them know she wouldn't be signing on after all. Then she called Kane, who was more than excited to learn she'd decided to stay.

No questions asked.

Which was just as well because neither Bellamy nor Clarke were prepared to offer any answers.

She suggested it as they lay in bed on Monday morning, preparing to finally part after a weekend of pure bliss. It had been, Bellamy thought, exactly as he'd imagined life with Clarke would be. Pretty much like things had always been between them at the best of times.

Except, of course, for the sex.

And that was so sensational that they'd finally had to force themselves to leave Bellamy's condo for a walk or a meal. Only to rush right back when they found they couldn't keep their hands off each other.

"This... thing," Clarke said, waggling her fingers between them, "this _us,_ can we maybe keep it to ourselves for a bit? Just for a little while, so we don't have to deal with the _I_ _told you sos_ from our friends, and the sly speculation from everyone else." She sighed. "I'm really not looking forward to that."

"You don't think they'll wonder why you suddenly changed your mind about the job?"

She shrugged. "Let them wonder. Maybe they'll connect it with my breakup with Cillian. That way, they won't think I broke up with him because of you."

"But you did," he reminded her, smirking.

"Yeah," she said, poking him in the ribs, "but I don't need everyone gossiping about it. Or me. Or you. I'd like to stay in our own little bubble just for a while. Just have it be... us."

"Okay," he said, more than happy to agree to anything at all, so long as he could be with Clarke. "Maybe we can pull it off."

And somehow they managed it.

Kane eyed them closely that Monday evening, but when they said nothing then or later, neither did he. The two of them resumed their round of social events with their friend group, and if, when Bellamy gave Clarke a lift 'home', it was home with _him_, well, no one had to be the wiser.

A few weeks later, Echo ran him down in his office one afternoon to impart some news of her own.

"I wanted to let you know I got a job with the network," she said, her normally inscrutable face alight with excitement. "Cillian's contact actually got me an interview and... they liked me. I start in two weeks."

"That's great, Echo," he told her sincerely. "I'm happy things worked out for you."

"I'm happy they worked out for you, too," she said, a sudden gleam in her eye.

"I'm... not sure what you mean," Bellamy tried, giving it his best shot.

But he supposed he should have known better.

"Come on, Bellamy, how stupid do you think I am? _Clarke_ suddenly breaks up with Cillian and decides to stay? _You_ stop being Mr. Mopeyhead, holed up in your office between newscasts? And remember, I'm the one who saw the two of you arguing in the hallway that day."

"Echo..." Bellamy frowned, trying to decide how best to respond.

"Don't worry," she smirked, "I won't give the game away. But I don't know how long you think you can keep everyone else in the dark. Or... why you'd even want to try."

He shrugged. "Thanks for keeping it to yourself."

After Echo left, he meandered over to Clarke's office to give her the news, and she was all smiles.

"That's really great for her."

Bellamy folded his arms and leaned against the doorframe, smirking.

"This sudden enthusiasm for Echo's success wouldn't have anything to do with her not being around here anymore, would it?"

Clarke's eyes began to twinkle. "I admit to nothing. But consider the irony of your former fuck buddy getting a tip from my ex-boyfriend that landed her the job of a lifetime. I'd say things turned out okay for her."

Bellamy laughed. "Can't disagree with that."

Then he recalled the rest of his conversation with Echo and moved from the door to Clarke's desk, bending a little to be certain he couldn't be overheard.

"She knows about us, Clarke," he said quietly, shaking his head slightly when he saw her eyes widen in surprise. "No, I didn't say anything. She just... figured it out. I think we need to talk about this sometime."

"Sure," she said, but he could see the uncertainty in her eyes.

"Sometime" finally rolled around the following weekend, as they relaxed on Bellamy's couch after a long work week. And Clarke once again expressed her reluctance to go public.

It had been several weeks now, and Bellamy was a little perplexed. Yeah, at first the secrecy had been kind of hot, but now all he wanted was to shout from the rooftops how much he loved Clarke. How fucking _happy_ he was.

"What aren't you telling me, Clarke?" he finally asked. "What are you worried about?"

She frowned. "I just... I hate the idea of them speculating about _when_ we got together or _how_ we got together. Or taking bets on how long we'll last as a couple and when we'll probably break up."

Bellamy gaped at her.

"Clarke, I waited too fucking long to be with you, so I am sure as hell _never_ gonna break up with you. You?"

"Same," she told him, smiling fondly. "But you already knew that."

Bellamy nodded.

When the idea popped into his head then, Bellamy realized it had been percolating in his brain for weeks, just waiting for the moment to explode to the surface.

This was that moment.

"Then what we'll have to do is make sure everyone understands exactly how it is with us. That this isn't just some... passing fancy."

_If only Clarke would agree._

He took a deep breath.

"So... here's the thing. I don't think we should be dating at all."

"What?"

Bellamy rushed on before she could misunderstand.

"Dating is for couples to get to know each other, to find out if they like each other. To figure out if they can _love_ each other. So... what's the point of us dating when we already know each other as well as any two people on Earth. We've been best friends forever, and loved each other for years. So for us, dating is just a... a waste of time."

He swallowed heavily and forced himself to continue.

"So I think that instead of dating we should just... get married."

Clarke's eyes widened and her mouth opened in a silent "O."

As the seconds ticked by, Bellamy could feel his heart hammering.

"You're proposing," she said finally, her voice faint.

Bellamy cleared his throat nervously.

"I am," he said. "I've been thinking about this for a while now, and for me, it's what I want more than anything. But... what do you think? Do you... want to marry me ? And if you do, would you consider skipping past the dating part and just getting married right away?"

When she suddenly gave him a radiant smile, Bellamy's heart began to race, this time in a good way.

"Of course I'll marry you," she said happily. "I'd love to marry you."

In an instant he'd pulled her up and was swinging her around the room, both of them laughing from the sheer joy of it. Moments later, they were both crying from the utter relief of it.

"I can't believe you really agreed to this," he murmured, hugging her tightly.

"I can't believe you finally asked."

XXXXXXXXXX

Clarke didn't care about an engagement ring, so instead they bought matching flat platinum wedding bands, his plain, hers encrusted with diamond chips all around the circumference. And after they'd bought those rings, they suddenly couldn't wait to just... get it done.

It had taken some research, but Bellamy finally found an inn in the Berkshires that had wedding packages, including providing someone to marry them.

"The Berkshires is a good idea," Clarke agreed. "I'm pretty sure they get their local news from Springfield or Hartford or Albany. Somewhere that isn't Boston. So they'll have no idea who we are. Which is exactly the way I want it."

They didn't even have to ask for time off. A few weeks later, they left the city early one Saturday morning, and by sunset they were standing in front of a Justice of the Peace, an elderly white-haired woman who told them she'd been marrying people for years.

Bellamy had been so wrapped up the logistics of getting married, so ecstatic at finally being able to be with the woman he'd loved for so long, that he'd given little thought to how becoming Clarke's husband might actually make him feel. After all, they knew each other so well, and were already essentially living together, that he mostly expected to feel... relief.

_He couldn't have been more wrong._

When Bellamy pushed that diamond circlet onto Clarke's finger, happiness exploded inside him so fiercely that he could barely stand it.

They were married! _Fucking married. _Clarke was his _wife_!

When he bent to kiss her, he spied the tears in the corners of her eyes.

"Me, too," he whispered, cupping her face in his palms.

His bride was beautiful and wonderful, and he had to be the luckiest and most undeserving jackass who'd ever lived.

Bellamy and Clarke were so ecstatically happy about their new status, and everything that lay ahead of them, that it wasn't until they were driving back to the city on Sunday night that Bellamy wondered aloud exactly how they should tell everyone that they were married.

"Oh, I've got an idea about that," Clarke said, grinning cheekily.

XXXXXXXXXX

They hadn't worn their wedding rings to work all week, but they brought them in on Friday and slipped them on just before the late newscast began. Fortunately it was a light news day, all the murderers, corrupt politicians, and extreme weather events apparently falling in with their plan. Which was a good thing, because they needed to steal a few seconds from the news of the day for something a little more... personal.

It was 11:59 pm, just about the time that Bellamy would ordinarily begin their nightly sign-off, but on this Friday night things went a little differently.

"And in other news," Bellamy began, as he had hundreds of times before, but this time he added a smile. The charming full-on grin, in fact, that few regular viewers of the newscast had ever seen.

"And in other news," he repeated, now turning that smile on Clarke, "your co-anchors would like to announce that six days ago they got married."

"And before you all start bombarding the station with tweets and texts," Clarke added quickly, "yes, we do mean to each other."

Bellamy pulled Clarke's left hand onto the desk and placed his own beside it. Both rings glittered under the bright studio lights.

"Maybe you can get a nice tight shot of that," he nodded to Miller, "so the folks at home don't think we're pulling their legs."

Miller was grinning from ear to ear as he refocused the camera to get a brief close-up of their hands, then the cameras quickly shifted back to their faces to find both of them smiling happily.

"I hope you got your screen shots, everyone," Clarke said, still smiling, "because this is the last time we plan to talk about this."

"But thanks so much for letting us share this moment with you. This is Bellamy Blake..."

... and Clarke Griffin, for the WBOS news team. Good night, everyone."

For the few seconds it took the credits to roll while the familiar theme music played, it felt to Bellamy like everyone in the room was holding their collective breaths. But as soon as the "On Air" light switched off, complete pandemonium ensued.

"_What the hell!"_

"_Why didn't you tell us?"_

"_Since when were you two even dating?"_

The questions came fast and furious, along with the hugs and congratulatory handshakes and back slaps. They answered the ones that weren't too intrusive and shrugged off the rest.

Kane finally made it down from his office where he'd been watching the newscast, and Bellamy was certain he'd never seen the man look quite so happy... or quite so relieved.

"I still remember the day I introduced you two," he said, smiling broadly. "I'm not sure I would have predicted this outcome," he added with a laugh, "but I'm happy for you both."

They finally escaped, promising their closer friends that they'd see them soon, and headed for the bank of elevators.

"It's sure been quite a ride," Bellamy declared, wrapping one hand around his wife and using the other to press the button for the top floor.

"Ride?"

"Yeah, everything that we've been through to get to this point. All my wrong turns..."

"...and my... failures to communicate. But I'm pretty sure I'd do it all again if I knew we'd end up right here."

"I'd go through it a dozen times over if it meant I could be with you," Bellamy said, leaning down to plant a soft kiss on his wife's lips. "But then... that isn't really news."


End file.
